


Loyal 'Til the End

by misti4492



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:51:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 103,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misti4492/pseuds/misti4492
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Camelot had fallen. Morgana was queen. Arthur knew these facts, but nothing worried him more than Merlin. Merlin, with golden eyes, captured during the attack, and who held dangerous knowledge of the elusive Emrys. Time was running out until Morgana found Emrys and went after Arthur. The King could only hope they could retake Camelot in time. Before his servant broke. Post-S4</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this is a work I have been working on for the past couple of months over ff.net. I figured since I have an account on this site, I wanted see what you guys think of it ^^. When I get around to it, I'll post the other chapters when I can.  
> First time posting here, so I'm a bit confused by all the tags and what not, sorry if I messed anything up! o,O I'll get used to this site eventually.  
> Let me know what you think of it!

He slouched against the wall with arms extended above in shackles, head pounding. His shoulders ached from the extended time in which his limp form strained them, but he lacked any strength to keep himself on his feet. His one and only hope of escape from the dungeons is to break the silver chains that cruelly wrapped and burned into the skin of his right forearm. They only burned hotter when he tried to reach his magic, when his first few days left him determined to break out.

Merlin was stupid.

If there was a word to describe him, it was stupid. Or idiotic, but he really rather avoid the idea of a smug Arthur when using the King's favorite insult against himself. Hell he probably deserved to suffer his King's prattish attitude for allowing himself to be caught; though it had been weeks since his imprisonment, Merlin kept thinking of it. Why did he not pay attention to his surroundings? He was easily handling the three sorcerers, but when Merlin injured one and the other two increased the ferocity of their attack, trying to keep the servant from gaining grounds. The warlock grew arrogant, seeing how the other sorcerers were frantic in their incantations. With his attention on the two remaining sorcerers, Merlin didn't notice when the third managed a spell, smashing the servant's head into the wall.

Waking up to consciousness was not pleasant. Morgana had been furious when she discovered Merlin was a sorcerer. The first two weeks was spent with Morgana tormenting the servant; she had the man beaten within an inch of his life, used wordplay and spells to destroy his mentality, and even allowed another sorceress to continue the man's endless suffering. Then the pain stopped, momentarily. Morgana had healed him with a request: the identity of the sorcerer, Emrys.

Merlin could laugh.

The one sorcerer Morgana wanted was already in the palm of her hand, and here she was asking him about Emrys. Yet the only thing Morgana managed to figure out was only one connection: if Gaius had known, then as his ward Merlin should as well. So began Morgana's questioning. Most of the time, it was the witch who entered the dungeon and asked about Emrys then tortured him when he refused to speak. Other times, she had her favorite sorceress go in her place. Either way, Merlin found himself in nonstop misery.

It was as he laid there contemplating his situation when he heard the footsteps echo from the dark hallway and stairs beyond. Moments later a light from a flickering torch pierced through the darkness and reached him from his cell. Holding torches, several guards marched past and stationed themselves before his cell before another figure approached. A dark figure dressed in a black lattice dress whose pale face and steel, green eyes framed by wild black hair, entered the room. Sitting atop her head laid a bejeweled crown. Behind her trailed a woman, hair just as dark held in a neat braid, body clad in a dark green tunic and leather. Her eyes were just as cruel.

"Hello Morgana," greeted Merlin, his voice strained. With a flash of gold, the prisoner found himself cringing against the walls as agony spiked throughout his entire body; with his typical brand of stubborn, Merlin kept his mouth shut as if deny the witch any pleasure from his cries.

"You will address me by my proper title. I will not have trash like you call me as a friend."

"I will not recognize you by a title that you do not deserve nor will I bow down before a false Queen."

"Do you have a death wish, Merlin? Continue as such and I will not hold back any more than I already have."

"So be it."

Morgana stared at the captured sorcerer. Then she knelt in front of him, making sure to be leveled with him so that their eyes made contact, as she continued to watch the servant.

"Why do you protect this kingdom?" Morgana asked, her tone revealed genuine curiosity.

"Because Arthur is the Once and Future King, I believe in the world he strives to create."

"You believe in the world of bloodshed and death. One where children are drowned for a gift they cannot deny and people are screaming as they burn upon the pyre." Morgana stated her face impassive but her eyes full of hate.

"No, I believe in the world of the Once and Future King who will bring peace and union across Albion," argued Merlin, "Which makes me wonder, why you will want to hunt down Emrys-"

Merlin was interrupted when Morgana hand came flying and slammed into the side of the warlock's head. The hit only served to intensify the headache he already had as he involuntarily gave a low groan.

"Emrys is nothing more than a coward, one who hides behind anyone foolish enough to help him," snarled Morgana.

"Bringing about an age of peace between magic and non-magic people is deemed cowardice?"

"Lying low and hiding behind a king to survive while more and more people are persecuted is what I call cowardice. I suggest you choose your side wisely. You give me the information I seek, you go free and get to live a life in comfort for the rest of your life, though you hardly deserve it."

"I will never tell you anything."

"Then you leave me no choice," Morgana stood, turned on her heel, and began toward the door, stopping only to give one last glance at the bound servant before she turned to the young woman who stood silently in the corner of the cell, "Tara, make him scream."

"I'll get him to talk milady," the woman, Tara, bowed her head.

"No."

"Milady?"

"He won't talk yet. He's too stubborn in his loyalty to Arthur," said Morgana, a smirk grew on her face, "just make him scream, show him where he stands right now. When you're done, I want you in the throne room."

"Yes, milady," the woman gave one last bow before Morgana left, taking with her the few guards that stood outside the cell.

Tara turned to Merlin, pacing around her prey as she began to measure the current state of the servant. Merlin allowed his head fall onto his chest, eyes drooping. He didn't know how much more he could take of this; it was only a matter of time before he snapped. He could barely stay conscious now as he heard the woman chant the language of the Old Religion that promised him pain.

Though his magic was bound, Merlin believed he might be able to overpower the restraints; grit his teeth against the pain and break his magic free. After over a month chained, he felt his magic burn within him, the power building against the chains. It had been the longest time he had gone without magic, a magic not meant to be kept restricted. It was all Merlin could do to not break out, lash out against his tormentors and stop Morgana's reign.

But Merlin knew he was too weak. Morgana's treatment had ensured it. Her sorcerers alone provided more than a challenge for the young warlock but to go against witch's sorcerers, creatures and soldiers as well? Hell, he would have better chance at convincing Arthur to give him a day off than break the chains and face an army.

All he could do was hope and wait for the opportune moment, one that Merlin was resigned to wait for as the pain began to pierce through his body

Screams began to echo through the hallway again.

~~~

Even in an ally's castle, the battlements were still perfect for quiet thoughts as the King of Camelot leaned against the walls, elbows resting on top with hands clasped, as he took in the view of the land. Nemeth may not have had as much power and grandeur Camelot had but that did not mean the land was not beautiful; however, said beauty was the last thing among Arthur thoughts.

Arthur was miles away, his thoughts mused over his own kingdom. Back to the kingdom that was still beneath Morgana's control in a little over five weeks. Though he tried to push the images from his mind, Arthur could not help but think back to the panic and fear the populace held as they tried to run and hide from Morgana's ruthless army. Even if they had known she was approaching, Arthur knew they stood little chance. The Blood Guard and army King Alined provided alone would have been more than a challenge against Camelot, but the added sorcerers and creatures was enough to slaughter the defenders of Camelot. It was all anyone could do to get the King and Queen out of the citadel.

The attack occurred within mere minutes of the guard's report. The soldiers were brutal as they charged through the lower town, cutting down all they met. In their midst, sorcerers stood proud as they shielded the men from the brunt of Camelot's retaliation; arrows stopped mid-flight were returned, swords were deflected off an invisible barrier, knights were thrown from their feet. Yet those were not all there was to Morgana's army, nor were the sorcerers the biggest worries. None matched the true horror the creatures of the Old Religion brought forth.

Arthur could not help but shudder when he remembered the beasts that flooded into lower town; the way the savages tore through the people as if they were nothing but parchment. They appeared in the form of ferocious lions, their spines lined with wicked spikes while their teeth and claws stained in the blood of their victims. The fur blended into scales towards the tip of what should have been its tail but, instead, was the head of a serpent. The serpent's eyes gleamed red with bloodlust equal to its feline counterpart, its reflexes not stunted as they quickly struck anyone who dared to be near. The deadly duality of the creature ensured that those few who were able escape the lion's maw fell before the fatal bite of the snake. Thus, with Camelot's forces out matched, the despair settled heavily among the ranks.

The King clenched his hands once more, his eyes observed the ways the muscles tightened turned his knuckles white. It was in this position, clenched fist by the battlement walls, that Princess Mithian found Arthur. She hesitated monetarily at the sight of the King before she strode to stand beside the man.

"Gwen was looking for you," Mithian said as she beheld the landscape. Arthur gave a slight nod but said nothing. "The patrols have returned."

"What have they found," Arthur sighed and relaxed his hand before once again leaned into the wall.

"Morgana has the border well protected. It seems she knows your location; however, we have yet to see her act upon it. We can hope that remains as such, we are still gathering our army and the messengers have not returned from the other kingdoms. We are not prepared for an attack from Morgana."

Silence fell upon the two as Arthur absorbed the information. From what they had gathered from patrols and the confession Gaius had made soon after the handful of them escaped the citadel, Arthur knew just what caused Morgana's hesitation in an invasion Nemeth; what stilled her hand in fear.

Emrys' identity remained concealed.

~~~

"Welcome Sir Knights of Camelot. I hope your accommodations are to your satisfaction."

Knees slammed into the stonework as guards dragged and pushed down three men before Morgana, who stood tall before the throne. Behind her, to the right, stood a young maiden with raven hair braided into a ponytail while clad in a simple green tunic and dark leather pants and boots. Though slightly faded, blood splatters could be seen on her clothes. Her young face feigned innocence while eyes betrayed the sinister personal beneath. To the left was King Alined. He stood stock still, his unfocused eyes stared off into the distance.

"For a man who obsessed with war and weaponry, he is awfully quiet now," laughed Morgana, watching as one of the knights, Gwaine, observed the king, "Then again the fool bit more than he can chew when he tried to control me with that pathetic excuse of a sorcerer. How the table have been turned."

"You will step down from the throne, Morgana. You have no right to the crown!" shouted Leon from where he knelt between Gwaine and Percival.

"I have more right than your precious Arthur! I alone can bring justice the people of this kingdom are sorely in need of!"

"And what kind of justice do you preach when the people stay within their homes in fear. Let's face it witch, you're not exactly an inspiration of security and compassion," came Gwaine's sarcastic reply.

With a flick of her wrist, Gwaine's head crashed down into the ground, the force of the impact left him briefly dazed while the guards stepped forward once again to straighten the knight back into a kneeling position.

"I suggest you hold your tongue, knight, else I might slip again." sneered Morgana.

"I suggest you release me and my friends and leave else I might slip my sword between your ribs and rid this world of another monster," Gwaine's response dripped with hatred as he glared at the witch, "What the hell are you doing to Merlin. I will have your heart fed to the dogs if you dare touch him!"

"My, my, my. Someone doesn't appreciate his evening entertainment. Why I thought you would have loved to know your friend was still alive."

"What use is it to you to torture a servant? Why are you keeping him alive?" Percival finally spoke up, concern only noticed by the friends that knelt beside him.

"I must admit, part of it is for my own satisfaction to have that pest squirm" Morgana giggled before twisting her face into a snarl, "though you are correct, he would be long dead if it was just that. Merlin has information I seek, so until he has told me I will ensure he stays alive. I will break him."

Gwaine gave his own laugh, "You would have more luck keeping me from drink than you would in getting Merlin to betray anyone to you. When the rightful King is restored back upon the throne, I will make sure you suffer every punishment you forced on my friend."

Morgana's fury flared once again before she composed her face and her eyes cooled into a simmering anger, "I am the rightful Queen of this land, and you will pay for your impudence. Guards, take them, but leave Sir Leon. Strip them of their armor, give them rags. I want them collared and chained; they will be nothing more than slaves. Allow no one to show them any sympathies, anyone who does will join them, and make sure they are properly punished for even the smallest mistakes. Tara?"

At the sound of her name, the woman beside her stepped forward and gave a small bow to Morgana beside her.

"Yes milady?"

"I want you to prepare Sir Leon to bring Arthur a message. Make sure he understands his current situation."

Orders given, Morgana rose from the throne and turned away, taking a side door to leave the room. At her departure, the guards stepped forward and took ahold of Gwaine and Percival. Though they struggled to remain beside Leon, the guards forcibly escorted the knights from the room. The last they saw of their friend before the door was closed was of him, back straight and chin up, waiting as the woman, Tara, predatorily approached the man, her eyes held the faintest flickers of gold.

Under the orders of the witch, the two knights found themselves back in their cells clad in tattered clothing, heavy chains that kept their arms from moving more than a shoulder width apart, and a collar that bit coldly into each one's neck. With a sigh, Percival slumped against the far wall and watched Gwaine as he began to pace across the room, chains clinked as his fist clenched before he stopped at a wall and slammed his fist, with as much force he was capable of while chained, against the wall.

"Damnit!" cursed Gwaine as he stared at his bloodied knuckles.

"Damnit…" he repeated, his voice came out as nothing more than a strangled whisper. It was awhile before Gwaine once again spoke up, his voice tried but failed to keep a light tone.

"After five weeks in here, I started thinking she had forgotten about us."

"It was as if she just realized we were here," Percival agreed. It was minutes afterword that, deeper down the hallway, screaming could be heard reverberating through the dungeons.

"I can only assume that whatever distracted her has to do with the information Merlin possess," Gwaine murmured as his face paled and fist clenched again while staring into the direction of the screams.

The two stayed in silence as they allowed the screams to envelop them; neither had a wish to speak through the sounds of their friend's torment. The past five weeks were brutal for the knights for though part of their stress came from the anxiety of what was to come, what decision Morgana would have to deal with the most loyalists of knights to Arthur, it also came from the knowledge that Merlin was being tortured.

Gwaine began to think back to the moments after Camelot had fallen to the witch when the two of them and Leon were thrown into the cell together; they were given little food, little water, and forced into a cell much too small for three full-grown men. It was during the third hour of waiting and initial plans of escape when they heard footsteps approach. Quickly the trio quiet down and watched in anticipation to see what news the footsteps brought of their fate.

First Morgana appeared before them, causing the knights to tense up when they expected her to turn to their cell. Much to their surprise Morgana merely gave them an indifferent glance as she past them and continued further into the dungeons. Six guards who walked in two columns flanked her, but it was the middle pair that grabbed the attention of the knights. Held between them was the slumped form of a familiar servant. Merlin was unconscious and pale; from beneath his hair, blood ran down his face, a possible reason for the servant's current state.

Leon and Percival froze in shock and Gwaine rushed the front of cell, hands wrapped around and shook the bars as he shouted obscenities after the witch, who had long been gone with her men, demanding that she released Merlin.

When the screams started, Gwaine grew only more desperate. He banged against the bars with all his strength; an irrational belief consumed him that he could knock down the bars and defeat those who caused his friend agony. But the bars would not budge and the screams continued relentlessly. It felt as if hours passed before they stopped, whether Morgana relented or the servant lacked the strength and voice to express his agony, the knights did not know. Leon and Percival could only watch in sympathy, concern for their mutual friend gleamed in their eyes, as Gwaine slumped in defeat, his hands bloody from beating against the bars.

Now the all too familiar screams continued. Gwaine could not help but feel he was partly responsible from their confrontation with Morgana. Oh how he hated sitting around, doing nothing, while he knew jos friend was suffering. What kind of person was he if he could not even save his first true friend from torture? How could he just stand there and allow it? No matter how much Gwaine knew that nothing could be done, it did not stop the guilt from consuming him every time the screams began.

By the expression of Percival face, Gwaine assumed that the fellow knight was of similar mind.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur stared at the messages set before him. Any hope he had felt previously washed away at its arrival from nearby kingdoms; it appeared that many feared the threat Morgana imposed upon Albion. None of them want to chance angering the witch when there was every possibility that the war could not be won. Gods help any who angered a power-hungry witch. Arthur gave a groan as he swept his hand through his hair and began to rub his face.

How can they win against such forces with a handful of knights and Nemeth's small army? Though the army of this land had shown particular strength before, they were nothing compared to what Morgana controlled. Camelot had fallen within hours, and thought they were caught by surprised Camelot still had one of the strongest armies in the land. Nemeth on the other hand never had to have a particularly large army, not when allied with a kingdom capable of providing aid when needed.

"Has none offered us help?" came a whisper as warm, soft arms enveloped Arthur from behind and dark curls brushed against his cheek while Guinevere leaned over his shoulder to read over the parchment.

"It is clear who holds the advantage. If we start and lose this war, Morgana may target kingdoms that helped our cause. Last thing a ruler wants is to bring the wrath of an all-powerful sorceress and her unstoppable army to their doorsteps"

"Do not lose hope Arthur. No matter the odds, there is always a chance of victory. You have faced many battles at a disadvantage and come out victorious."

"I fear that this time victory is beyond our grasp," Arthur whispered, his hand crumpled the most recent rejection.

"That will never be true," admonished Gwen. She placed her hand upon Arthur's, her thumb making soothing circles, "The reports we are getting from the patrols still say the same: the people of Camelot refuse to see Morgana as queen. You must remain strong for them, for they show they are willing to keep their faith as long you're still there to lead them."

Gwen straightened from her position and walked in front of Arthur to softly kiss him upon the lips. She pulled back only a short distance then leaned her forehead against the King's. Making sure she had his full attention, Gwen said, "Camelot has always stood strong against adversity. This is no different. We will defeat Morgana."

Gwen's hand was caressing Arthur cheek when a knock sounded from the chamber doors. Her fingers lingered across Arthur's cheek, not quite wanting to pull apart, before Gwen strode to the door and opened to a grim-faced Elyan.

Of Arthur's group of trusted knights, only Elyan was able to escape alongside the King and Queen. Elyan was dining with his sister and the King at the time of the attack and took it upon himself to see the two to safety through the flames and violence. Leon, with Percival, had already gone to lead men to defend the lower town while Gwaine was, Elyan could assume, spending a night at the tavern. It didn't take much for Elyan to be persuaded into escorting Gwen and Arthur out of Camelot once it became apparent that they could not secure the citadel from the invasion.

Standing before her, Gwen tensed; from the look of her brother's face, she knew the news was not good.

"Gwen, Sire," Elyan bowed his head as he addressed them, "We found Leon."

"Where is he?" demanded Arthur as he quickly got to his feet and followed Elyan out the guest chambers with Gwen trailing behind.

"He was brought to the infirmary the moment we got back; Gaius and Helena are treating him," Elyan answered as he led the King and Queen through the castle. Reaching the infirmary, Arthur was met with the sight of a middle-aged woman examining a figure that lay stretched across the bed while Gaius stood by a table grinding herbs for, what Arthur can only assume, medication.

Elyan stood back as the royal pair approached the patient's bed. Gwen gasped, hands flying up to cover her mouth with eyes wide in horror. Arthur's jaw tensed, his anger simmering beneath the surface, the rough emotions waiting to be unleashed against the closest target; however, Arthur knew losing control would not help matters. Instead, Arthur pushed aside his anger and focused on the barely conscious knight before him.

"S-sire," Leon stuttered. He struggled to say more but Arthur raised a hand.

"Rest Leon, you are among friends."

With what remained of his strength, Leon stretched his hand out to Arthur. In it, a scroll was clenched tightly in his fist. Gingerly, Arthur unwound Leon's finger from the scroll and took it to the side. Gwen watched, biting her lip in worry, as Arthur's face hardened as he read the scroll.

"Elyan, fetch Rodor and Mithian. Tell them I wish to speak to them in the council room," Arthur ordered, he then turned to Gaius, "Gaius, I want you at attendance as well." Orders given, Arthur strode out of the room leaving Gwen to briefly give questioning looks to Gaius before they too followed the king to the council room. In the center of the room stood a large table; to the side was a fireplace, a small fire merrily dancing in the hearth.

Gwen watched Arthur impatiently pace back and forth at the end of the table, running his hands through his hair, while Gaius sat on a chair, his eyes glued to the bloodstained parchment on the table. It was awhile after that Elyan appeared with the Nemethian royal family. King Rodor nodded to Arthur while Mithian smiled and hugged Guinevere. With a gesture from Rodor, all those in attendance joined Gaius at the table.

"King Arthur, I heard that one of your knights was found by a patrol," said Rodor.

"Yes, and the message he brought is the reason I needed to speak with you. It seems our suspicions were correct as to why Morgana has not attack," said Arthur, getting straight to the point of the meeting. The past weeks had left Arthur feeling disheartened in his exile to Nemeth and the news, though morbid, gave Arthur a better understanding on their current situation. The knowledge that was sorely needed would allow him to take better action towards retaking the throne.

At the mention of the sorceress current state of inaction, Gaius eyes widened and his shoulders sagged as uneasiness flooded his face.

"Sir Leon, the knight your patrol found, was sent as a message from Morgana," the King's voice filled with venom towards his sister while he gestured to the parchment on the table. Rodor grasped it from the center of the table and began reading. After a moment, he placed the parchment back on the table and met the King of Camelot in the eye.

"She is not planning an attack?" Rodor said, confused though there was an undertone of relief. "Whoever it is she seeks, it's diverting her attention from us and giving us time to form our own defenses. I can only hope that our luck continues."

"And who is it she seeks that is keeping her from hunting you down. From what I gathered about her, Morgana would stop at nothing to get her hands around your throat, Sire," questioned Mithian.

"According to the message, the identity and location of someone by the name of Emrys," Rodor answered though he too gave a questioning look to the King of Camelot. "She even promised the lives of Queen Guinevere and three of Camelot's Knights that escaped to Nemeth if you handed the sorcerer over."

"The only thing we can understand about this Emrys is that whoever he is, Morgana not only fears him, but that he has foiled her plans enough times before for her to believe his death essential in her campaign against Arthur," Gwen answered.

"During a previous invasion from Morgana, the moment we confronted her, she mentioned that Emrys could not save us from her magic," Arthur said.

"How did you defeat her the last time?" Mithian asked, "How did you fight against her magic?"

"We didn't. She… she couldn't use it. I don't know what happened, but she chanted and nothing, not even gold in her eyes. It was as if something was blocking her from using magic. Before I didn't give it a second thought. Now I can't help but wonder the implications of it and how Emrys plays a part in the scheme of things." Arthur turned to Gaius, "Gaius, I think it's time we heard the truth. Who is Emrys?"

Gaius glanced down to his folded hands. "There is much about Emrys that I have been privy to but it is not my place to speak of."

"Even if it is for the good of the kingdom?"

"Yes. Emrys is a secret that is not mine to reveal, only to safeguard. I have, with regret, revealed it against my will during the time Agravaine named me as traitor to divert your attention and Morgana could have me questioned. It was only through luck that the one who heard my confession was sympathetic to Emrys," Gaius said, "It is best that a few people know Emrys' identity."

Arthur gave Gaius a long look. "Even at Merlin's expense?"

Gaius deflated even more, his eyes glistening, "My ward is loyal. He would do everything in his power to keep you and the kingdom safe. Emrys is a secret he will guard with his life."

"How much longer can we expect him to endure Morgana before he breaks then? We are playing a waiting game, one that ends the moment the servant talks," the King of Nemeth spoke, glancing around to meet each and everyone in the eye, "And even then there might be even less time, for there are other ways aside from the boy that Morgana can find the information. It is safe to assume that Gaius and Merlin are not the only ones who know the truth."

"We could be attacked any day," Mithian whispered, though her voice grew stronger with each word, "Let us not waste what precious little time we were given. We bring in anyone who can fight, including refugees from Camelot and train as many as we can as best as we can. We get ready for an invasion."

"No."

Everyone look to Arthur in surprise.

"No?" Mithian tentatively asked.

"I cannot endanger an entire kingdom for an improbable victory nor for my own wellbeing. When the time comes and we," Arthur gestured to those from Camelot, "are not prepared nor found a way in retaking my kingdom, then… then I will go to Morgana willingly."

"You give yourself up, then the people of Camelot are doomed," Gwen said, her voice low, "Without you, the kingdom will be torn apart."

"With me, not only will Camelot be destroyed but also Nemeth. I will not drag more innocents into this fight, nor will I get you killed. When invasion threatens this kingdom, only I will surrender. It is the only option I can take that can protect as many people as possible"

"Then until that day comes, we prepare for war. I understand the consequences in protecting you but we will prepare our armies and send out more messengers for help. I will not condemn an ally and friend without trying to stop it, nor can I allow your people to suffer too," King Rodor said. "I will declare war against Morgana once we have a large enough force that stand a better chance against her."

Arthur nodded, "Thank you."

"We will begin the recruitment process. Mithian, gather those unable to fight to learn the healing arts or begin producing weapons and armor. I want the people prepared for the worst," ordered King Rodor. He stood and began to leave the council room.

"Yes father," Mithian replied.

"I'll help as well." Gwen said. Together the women left after the King of Nemeth, but before Gwen gave Arthur a light kiss, leaving Arthur alone with Gaius.

The silence weighed heavily on them during which Arthur watched Gaius. It was this moment that Arthur finally allowed the emotions he had been suppressing since the arrival of the scroll to flood him. The confusing assault of emotions caused him place his elbows upon the table and drop his head into his hands, rubbing his temples. Concern, relief, and despair battled against those of betrayal and anger as he thought about the situation in its entirety and the one man who stood in the center, Merlin. One thing his warring mind seems to agree on was dread. Dread for what was happening to his servant, his best friend… and dread of what his friend was capable, the threat his father taught him that magic posed.

Arthur was once again brought back to the moment of attack.

It had been a peaceful night that found Guinevere, Elyan, and he about to tuck into their meals when the warning bells, accompanied by distant screaming, rung. With unfortunately well-practiced movements, Arthur was already out the door to investigate when they ran into Merlin, who was at the time helping Gaius with patients of a minor sickness that broke out amongst the citizens in the lower town. The sudden appearance of the virus and its many victims had caused Gaius to turn to Merlin in aid. The physicians himself was paces behind the servant as the two were about to make their rounds.

"Arthur!"

"Merlin, have you come from the lower town?"

Merlin shook his head, "No we were on our way when the warning bells sounded."

"Whatever is happening, it's affecting the lower town, Gaius, take Guinevere to the infirmary, ensure you bring a few guards nearby and keep her guarded. Take care of the injured. I'm going to the lower town to see what I can do."

Before any word of protest can be made, Arthur was already rushing through the hallways and out the castle with Elyan and Merlin close behind. Their feet thundered down the streets of Camelot before Merlin gave a shout of warning and grabbed Arthur to pull down an alleyway. Elyan merely turned in the street and followed the two.

"Merlin, you id-"Arthur's yell was interrupted when Merlin slammed his hand over his mouth and placed a finger to his lips. Merlin eyes were wide when he continued to look out the alleyway. It took seconds for Arthur to notice what had caused his servant to force the trio into hiding.

Just a few steps away from them stood a monstrous creature of what Arthur could only assume its origins to be of sorcery. The demented feline growled, as it seems to sense them in the alleyway, its lips curled over its wicked teeth, still glistening with fresh blood, the growl intensifying. Arthur lifted his arm and motioned for Elyan to keep still while at the same time pushing Merlin further against the wall. The servant rolled his eyes at the King, Arthur could already imagine the man scoff at the late reaction. Outside the alleyway, the creature narrowed its eyes, searching with nostrils flaring as it tried to pinpoint the men's location, before giving a small huff and bounded away towards the sound of clashing swords.

The three stumbled out of the alleyway and glanced down the road. Further, down the roadway, several more creatures were running in small packs in twos or threes, chasing after the citizens. Past them, soldiers and sorcerers could be seen battling; those wearing the colors of Camelot appeared to fall in battle more often than the other warriors did. Arthur began to draw out his sword when Merlin placed his hand on his shoulder, giving a small shake of his head.

"Arthur, no. Whatever those things are, you alone with a sword won't be able to do much help. Let's retreat into the castle and get a better idea of the situation."

"I will not stand aside while my men are slaughter," Arthur said tersely.

"And I will not stand by and watch you act like a Dollophead and get yourself killed."

"He is right, Sire. It is best we retreat and get the castle secured," Elyan supported. "Let us retreat and secure the castle, organize men to escort as many people into the citadel for safety."

Arthur clenched his jaw, taking a minute in indecision on retreating. It was in his hesitation that one of the creatures, slightly smaller than the one previously, jumped from the shadows, its jaws snapped shut as it met its intended target: Merlin.

Merlin gave a yelp of pain as the creature's momentum and weight slammed him into the cobblestone, forcing the breath out of the servant. The manservant's hand grasped onto the creatures maw, attempting to pry the beast's jaws from his left shoulders, though it did nothing in stopping the fangs from sinking deeper into flesh. As the servant grappled with the beast on the ground, Elyan and Arthur drew their swords, the dark-skinned knight slashed down towards the feline, blade crashing down on its back; however, with all the force the knight possessed, the blade barely cut through its fur. In retaliation, the serpent head, which swung from tail of the feline, reared back and prepared to strike the knight. Swiftly, Arthur dispatched of the snake's head before it lashed out against Elyan. The beast gave a shriek in pain, dropping the servant in favor for turning towards the King, though its claws tore four long gashes down Merlin's chest as it moved. It was interrupted mid attack by another thrust of the King's sword, the blade sliding cleanly through the eye socket and bursting out the back of its head. Arthur pulled out the blade and the monster dropped to the ground. The creature gave one gasp of breath before it grew still and disintegrated into ashes.

"Merlin. Merlin!" Arthur knelt by his servant but still kept his blade out in case of another attack. He noted the deep bite mark on the shoulder but was relieved to see the gashes on his chest appeared shallow, if a bit wide.

"I-I'm al-alright, Sire," Merlin gasped, his eyes scrunched closed in pain as he tried to even out his breathing

"Come on, we need to get you to Gaius," Arthur said, slowly pulling his servant up from the ground. Merlin gave a grunt of pain as he pressed his hand into his shoulder and his other arm across his chest to stem the flow of blood. Together, the knights supported Merlin, careful not to jar the man's injured shoulder, and led him back towards the citadel, through the entrance and into the infirmary. There Gaius and Gwen were found, busy among the injured as they treated the injured surrounded by a cacophony of moans and cries.

"Gaius!" Arthur called, pushing Merlin onto a nearby bed.

Gaius took one look before he was already by Merlin's side checking his wounds with eyes full of concern. "The wounds on his chest are superficial; they only need to be treated to prevent infection. The wound on the shoulder, however, would have to be stitched, give me a mo-"

"Just wrap, Gaius," Merlin interrupted, his face still twisted in pain, "I don't have time."

"No Merlin, I need you to stay here." Arthur said.

"Since when I have I ever listened to your orders, Arthur," came Merlin's reply as grabbed the bandages from Gaius and began to try to wrap his wounds himself, which he failed spectacularly as the movements jarred his injured shoulder. With a sigh, Gaius took over and swiftly had Merlin's shoulder wrapped before handing him a potion.

"For the pain, my boy."

Arthur tried not to let his irritation toward the servant show, he had bigger things to worry than his servant's insubordination as he glanced around the room and noticed the increasing amount of injured. The forces he had caught glimpses out in the streets where clearly overwhelming Camelot's defenses. Arthur could only think of one who was capable of such an attack.

Arthur was wrenched from his thoughts when people down the hall began to scream, followed by a large blast that cleared the people from the doorway and into walls, knocking half either unconscious or dead while the others remained where they fell in a daze. Those who were still able began to pick their way amongst the injured, hoping to find and help loved ones and others still alive. Then, through the smoke and debris that filled the hallway, Morgana strode in, as if she owned the place, and gave a cool glance around the room before locking eyes with her brother.

The witch had changed much during her exile from Camelot. The kind woman who argued against any bigoted action Uther had done had now become a mad woman. Her eyes were crazed in hunger for power and vengeance as she admired Arthur as one would admire a prize. Her hair was a wild, tangled mess that only accentuated the insanity that had consumed the witch.

It saddens Arthur to see his sister degraded into such a state.

How he loathed magic for what it did to her.

"Hello, dear brother," Morgana smiled as she lifted a hand toward Arthur, lips ready to incant when a piece of the ceiling above her suddenly broke apart and landed on the witch, knocking the woman into a daze.

"We have to get away!" Merlin shouted, grabbing the King with his good arm and pushed him around the fallen witch out of the room, along with Gaius. Elyan took a hold of Gwen's arm as well and followed the others out.

"Sire, this battle has already been lost if Morgana already has access into the citadel. We need to get you and Gwen through the siege tunnels and out of the castle," Gaius told Arthur, still following behind as Merlin pushed the King down the hall and putting as far of a distance from the witch before she had a chance to recover while also glancing around for potential threats. His left arm was pressed against his chest to prevent unnecessary movements from affecting his injuries.

"I am not leaving my people to Morgana again!" Arthur argued.

"You do not have a choice; we cannot allow Morgana to reach either you or Gwen. You cannot win this. It is better to survive and live another day to stop Morgana," Merlin snapped at Arthur as they forced him down another hallway.

"Let me go! I will not leave this castle withou-"Arthur, along with the other four, was thrown off their feet. Behind them stood three sorcerers, each with the arms raised and ready as they began to chant. Their incantations were spoken in synchronization while a fireball began to form in front of them. Arthur only had time to wonder on the unlikelihood that they would survive such a blast when the sorcerers finished their chant and hurdle the fireball at them.

It was seconds after that Merlin threw himself before the fireball.

Arthur felt a shout build in his throat. Terror struck him the moment that he realized he wouldn't be able to get the idiot out of the way before he was killed.

Then the fireball struck.

But it didn't reach Merlin.

Barely touched the servant.

Rather it slammed into a barrier inches from the manservant's face. A barrier with a golden sheen took the brunt of the force; the power of the spell caused a small ripple throughout the apparent shield.

All Arthur could do was gape at what he had just witness. Gape as his friend turned and met Arthur in the eye, remnants of gold still sparkling across his eyes. It was mere seconds, but to Arthur it felt like hours go by as his mind processed the apologetic look Merlin was now giving him.

He was a sorcerer, a powerful sorcerer.

He had committed treason against the crown.

All Arthur could wonder was: Why?

"Elyan get them out of here, I'll hold them off. Make sure you keep them safe. If we lose the King and Queen, we lose everything," Merlin shouted, then, to Arthur, "I'm so sorry."

Arthur watched as Merlin began to incant, the strange words flowing smoothly from his lips with practiced ease as he created his own fireball to launch back to the sorcerers. The King felt a spike that was through his heart go deeper as the betrayal ran even deeper by the one person he thought he could always trust.

"Sire! Let's go!" Elyan interrupted Arthur's thought as he too stared wide eyed at the battle that raged on before them. "Come on!" Elyan took ahold of Arthur and roughly forced him down the hall following behind Gaius, who had taken Elyan's role in leading Gwen to the siege tunnels. Gwen was too shock by the new revelations as well to do anything but follow the physician.

The view of the servant's back, straight and strong as he stood against his adversary, was the last time Arthur saw his friend.

He could only hope it wouldn't be the last, thought the King, though unsure of what he would say to the servant.

Of course, by the time they reached Nemeth, Arthur had dozens of questions for Gaius. Gaius said little only that Merlin had been a sorcerer for years and that Gaius would leave it for the servant to explain. Though it irritated him, Arthur knew that was only an excuse for Gaius; one that allowed him to keep his hope that they would find Merlin alive, as illogical as that line thinking was.

Arthur had doubted his friend had lived when he never returned to them on the way to Nemeth. There was no reason for Morgana to keep the servant alive, especially since Arthur suspected he went down fighting. That was until two weeks of staying in Nemeth, receiving reports of increase activities of the Morgana's patrols at the Camelot Nemeth border, wondering when Morgana would come for him that Gaius gave his own theories as to why the witch hadn't already tried to hunt them down.

Emrys.

The elusive sorcerer that had struck Morgana with fear and hatred.

The powerful sorcerer that stood as a self-appointed protector over Camelot for years, giving neither hint of involvement and denying any recognition for his deeds.

One that Gaius has admitted of knowing but not disclosing the information of Emrys' identity to Arthur but only that Merlin knew as well. Gaius guessed that if Morgana had known, or at least suspected, Gaius' knowledge of the warlock then she might make the connection of Merlin's knowledge.

That was the reason why Morgana had not attack. That was the reason why Gaius suspected Merlin was still alive. Because Morgana did not want to attack and risk losing all she had accomplished to Emrys. She did not want to lose everything to a man who can work in the shadows, hidden from sight, while she was distracted by her blood-thirst for Arthur.

Instead, she fixated her attention on hunting down Emrys, on ensuring he did not foil her plans again. Though she had other resources utilized in the search, if Gaius could guess, she also chose her own trail to follow. And it was in Merlin that she knew she could not only find the truth but also the pleasure.

Though Arthur wished to deny it, allow his mind to delusion himself that Merlin was not an innocent man being tortured for information, but rather the evil sorcerer his father had preached sorcerers to be all his life, Arthur knew that the message had come as proof that Gaius' hunch was correct. For within the message, Arthur could practically hear his sister's gloating voice as message spoke of Emrys demise approaching. Of how Merlin screamed day in and day out as he got closer and closer to breaking the truth out of the man.

Once again, Arthur felt himself torn between concern and anger over his servant.

"Gaius," Arthur spoke, breaking the silence within the council room, "you say that magic is neither good nor evil, yet look where magic has brought us. Look what it turned Morgana into."

"Look at Merlin, Sire. If you didn't know of his magic, you would not have hesitated in thinking him as your most loyal subject. Would you say Merlin is evil, even with years of loyalty?"

"How can I trust someone who has been lying since we've met? How can I know for sure that the person I knew wasn't merely a disguise to use me for his own gains?"

"You can't," Gaius shrugged, "you can only depend on whether or not you trust him. I can assure you, Sire, Merlin had always been as truthful with you as he can. He gave himself to you and Camelot, body and magic alike. The only difference between Merlin now and Merlin before is that he has magic, and nothing more. Now if you will excuse me, I will have to help the Queen and Princess with the training."

With a bow, Gaius left Arthur alone in the room.

Arthur glanced once again at the parchment before standing up from the table, scroll in hand, and tossing it into the flames within the fireplace.

Arthur would hold his judgment for now, until Merlin can explain and defend his actions.

Again, the King could not shake the lingering of guilt and concern even as he tried to steel his mind against any thoughts of his once best friend.

~~~

Arthur was standing beside Leon, observing the training grounds as men all around him were being worked into drills. Each Knight of Nemeth and King Rodor led various groups of men through the motions, working from how to initiate an attack to parrying a fatal blow. They focused mainly on swordsmanship, but few, who already know their way around a blade, were also shooting crossbows at targets or participating in hand-to-hand combat. Meanwhile Elyan can be spotted from a distance leading a group of men and a few women from the castle towards the town, where he will teach them how to work steel into weapons and armor.

"They are getting better," remarked Leon.

"Indeed. Let us hope it is enough when the time comes," said Arthur.

The days after they had discovered the knight, Leon had been in and out of consciousness. When fever had set in, Gaius worried of infection, the body further weakened as it tried to repair the more extensive injuries. Now, though still marred in cuts and bruises, the knight had healed enough to venture from the patient's cot and serve his King by help organize the training.

"Leon," Arthur said, steeling himself for the answers he was about to search for.

"Yes Sire?"

"What was it like? In Camelot, I mean."

Leon hesitated. The knight knew the devotion the King had for the kingdom and his people, but he also knew Arthur needed the truth. The knight felt a shiver as he thought back to his times in the dungeons.

"Most of the knights serve Morgana, not out of loyalty," Leon said quickly to assure the King that his knights still had no love for the witch, "but for fear for the people. Before Morgana would shoot at crowds at random to get their loyalty, now she threatened the lives of the children in the city. She threatened that she would gather and execute the children until the knights were subservient to her. They did not doubt she would do it."

Arthur paled.

"Percival and Gwaine were with me when I was captured; we were sent to the dungeons immediately. I believe she had us separated from the others, recognizing us as the closest knights to the crown. We only found out the state of kingdom during a visit Morgana gave us to gloat. Other than that time, Morgana ignored us until recently when she finally made a decision on us."

"What happened to Gwaine and Percival?"

"She decided to give them demeaning work as slaves in chains. I was singled out to be a messenger," Leon snorted.

"And Merlin? Do you believe we have enough time to prepare against Morgana?" Arthur asked, trying to cover his worry for his servant with worry for the time they had for the war, though Leon knew otherwise.

"He…" Leon hesitated. He wanted to report to his King, serve his duty, but how was he supposed to explain to the man on what he knew or can guess of the servant's condition. Leon felt his body tense once again.

He was the most senior of knights, often looked upon to command the others under orders or absence of the King. It was Leon's responsibility to ensure the royal family safety in desperate situations and protect the people from monsters, whether they were man or beast. He should have been the one protecting Arthur, not Merlin. Though Leon knew it was illogical, he could not help the guilt over Merlin's situation. The servant had been a close friend to the best of the knights, Leon included; yet the knight felt he failed in his duties only to have the manservant pay the price. While he was too busy being caught, Merlin was in the castle protecting the royal family the best way he can.

Leon was surprised to hear that the servant had used magic, for how is it possible for a sorcerer to willingly live in the heart of magic persecution. Though Leon was uneasy with the knowledge, decades of prejudice shaping his own opinions, Leon still recognized that the newly revealed sorcerer did not have evil intent. How could he? Merlin must have had several opportunity of killing Uther during the late King's reign and the man had access to every inch of the castle and every moment in Arthur's day-to-day life. If Merlin truly had an ulterior motive, he would have attempted something long ago.

With the servant in Morgana's clutches, Leon feared for the man's life. Every night, the screams made him want to plug his ears and close his eyes, pretend to not know what was happening deeper into the dungeons. Though the witch words were to incite anger from the knights, Leon could not help but agree that he was relieved to hear the servant screams for it mean the boy still lived. But the relief was short-lived, replaced by horror and disgust for what they were doing to the man. Leon did not know what Morgana was trying to accomplish, but the knight knew that much of the torment in the beginning was of malicious intent. She did not want to give the servant an easy death.

Here the knight was, before his King, expected to tell of how his best friend was given no mercy while his fellow knights, his brothers, stood by, helpless in that cursed cell. Or how several times in the beginning Gwaine would yell himself hoarse with hands smearing blood across the bars until finally giving up into sulks and glares, while slumping against the bars. How Leon would constantly meet Percival eyes, sharing an understanding that they could not do anything and hating every moment of it.

"Merlin is strong," Leon found himself continuing in the smallest of voice. "He would put a fight, but… you didn't hear him, Sire. I have not seen him since he was first brought into the dungeons, but I heard him each night, screaming. I don't believe any man can last as long as he has. I don't know if I can even guess how long he can last. Whatever she is doing to him is more than even a knight was trained to survive."


	3. Chapter 3

Exhaustion didn't even begin to describe the feeling the warlock was feeling. Merlin could come up with a dozen and one words that could explain his desperation. At times his body felt numb, unable to process the large amount pain inflicted upon him; other times pain seemed to radiate into every fiber of his being.

Pathetic.

Weak.

Worthless.

He was nothing, for what but nothing would just stand back and allow such atrocities. When Morgana and her pet wasn't busy carving into him, Morgana would gloat in her victory. How the knights followed her every bidding, casting aside the King who had left them to their fate. How sorcerers from every corner of Albion traveled to Camelot, making a mockery of the anti-magic laws and laying waste to all who opposed Morgana's reign. At times, Morgana brought the next to be executed, those who lacked any ability to wield magic and dared defy the witch, to force the warlock to watch as man, woman, or, gods forbid, child, begged and wept for mercy while the witch laughed, running a blade through their heart.

It sickened Merlin.

When they brought the first "traitor" before the servant, Merlin chose to look away; he closed his eyes and tried to keep his mind from what took place before him. His mind muddled at the time; consciousness was difficult when, seconds ago, Merlin undergone the cruel bite of the whip.

Never before had Merlin suffered flogging, and the malicious practice proved to be just as excruciating as claimed to be. It left his previously unblemished skin marred with lacerations that crisscrossed throughout the expanse of his back. The wounds wept, each one bled, losing enough blood to make him dizzy in its loss. Tara, wielding the whip, laughed when the warlock's legs gave way in pain when moments before the man stood strong against her.

It was as Tara coiled the whip to set aside when Morgana entered the cell, in one hand a sword and the other dragging, by the hair, a young girl, who looked to have barely seen fifteen summers, and tossing her into the center of the cell in front of the chained servant. Merlin can still remember the heart-wrenching sobs as Morgana read her crimes against the kingdom; insults made against Morgana, likely made in fear and hatred, on the tyrant's sovereignty. Then lifting blade, Morgana took a stance, prepared to give the girl the fatal blow.

Morgana thrust the sword but stopped inches from killing the girl; the witch noticed Merlin's averting eyes. Instead, the witch tossed aside the blade and opted for the use of magic. The quick death turned into an extensive, harsh process. The sobbing turned to shrieks, shrieks into moans, moans into gasps until Morgana's magic left the girl collapsed onto the ground in her own waste and vomit, writhing in pain and grasping against the stone floor as she tried to crawl away from the agony. It seemed to last an eternity before the girl's rattling breath halted, her twitching body giving one last spasm before lying still. As her eyes returned from gold to green, Morgana approached her prisoner, smirk in place as she admired the horror that stretched across Merlin's face.

"Next time, you watch," Morgana sneered before stalking away.

From then on, that was what the warlock did. The girl's death was the price of his defiance and though Merlin tried to rebel against the witch at every possible moment, he could not bring himself to do so at the expense of the innocent. He was failing the kingdom enough already, no reason to worsen situation. No reason to extend the innocents' sufferings.

At the thoughts of Morgana's transgressions, Merlin felt the familiar rush of magic erupt from within him. Unlike the early weeks of his captivity, the magic tore him from the inside. It was easy to get lost in pain during his sessions with Morgana, distracted as his body tried to cope with the agony that radiated throughout his body. It was the hours alone in the cell, with nothing but the patter of the rats' feet and the dripping of water to accompany his thoughts, which proved to be the most grueling for the servant. When left to his thoughts and emotions began to run high, the instinctual magic rose to his defense, needing to protect the warlock from unnecessary harm but clashing into the walls that contained it. Its need to escape, defend, did more than just burn.

It seared his very core.

The power had built up to extraordinary levels, an outlet no longer available to vent the excess magic. In his entire life, Merlin went without a day in which he did not use magic. The warm flow of his power was a constant companion when he worked through his chores in Ealdor and later in Camelot. Though Hunith and Gaius warned him on using sorcery on inconsequential things, they did not fully realize the difficulty of denying the servant his magic nor could he allow himself to feel neither shame nor fear for a part of himself.

Now he felt his magic again. It felt as if hundreds of daggers carved into him from the inside out, gutting him. Rather than the warm touch of the chains that bound his magic, the metal now burned white-hot, the restraints straining to keep the power contained. War waged within the warlock's body, a constant push and pull between the two opposing forces as each sought dominion over the other. It was all the warlock could do but refuse the temptation of breaking the bonds, not matter the pain and consequences.

As the magic grew more and more rebellious, Merlin threw back his head against the wall, forcing his eyes open to stare at the cracks the traveled and branched across the ceiling. The warlock forced his mind away from the cell to the village at the border of the kingdom, Ealdor. He thought of harvest time and the festivals. He thought of the pranks he and his best friend would pull on the villagers. The mother who scolded his misbehaviors. The cold winter that forced him to snuggle into her embrace, comforted in the knowledge that he was safe. The soft caress that glided through his dark locks.

Taking deep, even breaths, Merlin regained control and the magic receded, calm once again; however, the warlock knew the relief was only temporary, that magic would react again for it desired to flow freely once more. It would have to be released soon lest it became too much for the restraints and he truly lost control. He could not even imagine what would happen the moment the chains were removed and the feeling of raw power rushed out his very core. He did not want to risk discovery but knew he would have to tempt fate and force a small portion of the power past the enchanted chains. If he did not, the warlock risked the magic becoming too powerful to control from breaking the chains and allowing Morgana to discover how powerful the servant truly was. From there, it would not be that great of a leap for the witch to connect Merlin to Emrys.

But what could he do? What incantation should he try inside a cell that would be enough?

Footsteps echoed through the hallway and Merlin tensed and prepared for the next encounters.

~~~

Gwaine looked up from his spot on the ground when the cell doors clanged open and the guards bodily threw Percival inside. It had been about four months since they were imprisoned. Four months since Camelot was taken over and Arthur usurped from the throne by his own sister. Now the once proud Knights of Camelot, those few who were the closest to the King that remained in the witch's clutches, toiled daily doing the demeaning work of slaves.

"How was your day of catering to her Highness," Gwaine asked, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

"About as well as one of Arthur's training days when he is in a bad mood, " Percival joked as he slumped beside Gwaine, who gave a small chuckle.

"I got lucky; I only had to scrub the floors of the entire castle."

Gwaine passed Percival the bucket of stale water, who gave it a grimace before he took a drink.

"She is getting worse isn't she?"

Percival nodded, "She burned three more people at the stake today."

"I heard the screams, what were their crimes?"

"Sorcerers for refusing to pledge their allegiance to Morgana and a Druid for refusing her… information," whispered Percival.

"Emrys?" Gwaine asked

Percival nodded once as they both sat silently on the dungeon floor.

It had only taken a day of subservience to Morgana that the knights realized what they were doing with Merlin. From what Gwaine could gather when he forced to watch one of Morgana's session with the servant was that Morgana wanted the identity of a man by the name of Emrys. Though Gwaine wondered how the servant would have knowledge of a sorcerer, it did not stop the knight from initially trying to prevent further harm to his friend. Of course, that only led Morgana to become more severe on the servant and later punish the knight. From then on, Gwaine stood silently aside, doing as the witch demanded, to keep his friend from further pain, though he hated every second of it.

"I overheard talks about movement at the border between Camelot and Nemeth," said Percival.

"Movement?"

Percival nodded, "that was how she captured the Druid. One of the patrols found a small group traveling to Nemeth; the one they captured was left behind to give the others a chance to escape."

Gwaine gave a sigh as he leaned his head back against the wall. The knight knew that Arthur and Gwen had fled to Nemeth when Morgana took over, that much was obvious during the countless times Gwaine overheard Morgana laugh at the pitiful army Nemeth was growing, not to mention several reports before of people escaping into the kingdom though never had the knights overheard of the Druids' exile.

Compared to Morgana forces, any other armies were pathetic. The combination of Alined's soldiers and the Blood Guard and the added might of the sorcerers and strange creatures had created an unstoppable force; one that all of Albion had every right to fear. The only hope they had was if Alined managed to break free from Morgana's control and take his army away; however, that hope was diminished the moment Morgana had Alined declare that the soldiers would follow all orders from Morgana before mysteriously taking his life the next night. Though the soldier weren't loyal to Morgana, none wanted to tempt fate and defy her after she had so easily dispatched of their king, not when they were surrounded by beasts only she could control. Even the Knights of Camelot, aside for Gwaine and Percival, followed Morgana's order to a certain extent after she had threatened lives.

Heavy footsteps echoing from the hallway interrupted Gwaine from his thoughts as he met Percival gaze, both tense. There was only one reason why anyone would be down in the dungeon this late at night not long after locking the knights in.

Merlin.

"What are they doing back already," whispered Gwaine angrily with clenched fists, "they just left an hour ago."

Percival shook his head in confusion as they watch two guards walk past their cell.

"Neither of the bitches… just guards…" Gwaine trailed off.

They waited for a few more minutes before the footsteps approached again. This time, held between them was the thin form of the servant. He walked with a limp that caused him to stumble every other step as his weak body tried to keep up with the guards' quick pace.

Gwaine held his breath and felt his heart ache at the sight of his friend. The months of torment had taken a toll on the servant; though a guard blocked the knight from seeing the full state his friend was in, Gwaine still noted the man was struggling by the heaviness of his breathing. It was a wonder that he had not given in to the demands or even survived this long. The familiar feeling of helplessness rose, as Gwaine had to acknowledge that he could not help the servant.

It was as they were passing the cell's door when Merlin stumbled and fell his knees jarring painfully against the stone. The guards mumbled in irritation as they tried to drag the servant back onto his feet, gripping his arm painfully while they lifted him up. More insults spewed from each guard as Merlin struggled to regain his balance only to fall back onto his knees.

Gwaine would have usually been right up against the bars yelling abuse for the treatment they were showing Merlin, but he sat frozen as his eyes met the stormy blues of Merlin's. They were indecipherable; Merlin gave nothing away of himself in that stare until his eyes sparked in realization and his lips twitched into a small, sad smile. Then those stormy blues flooded with gold at the same moment Merlin gave a gasp and pitched forward onto his hands. His chest heaved as he began to hyperventilate and his body trembled.

It was as if he was in pain.

Above him one of the guards, impatient, kicked Merlin against ribs then grabbed onto his lank raven hair and pulled. The pain forced Merlin back onto his unsteady feet, barely managing to stay upright before once again the guards continued, dragging Merlin more forcibly as he struggle even more to walk. Even when he stumbled, the guards did not relent, not caring if the servant were to fall again. They would drag the man if they needed to.

It wasn't until they were gone from the dungeon before Gwaine turned to Percival.  
"Did you see that?"

Percival nodded, "Magic."

"Merlin's a sorcerer? When the hell did that happened?"

Percival gave a shrug, "I'm more wondering about what he just did."

Gwaine nodded. Then froze.

That smile.

There was no way he could do that… could he?

Gwaine got up from the end of the cell and approached the cell door. Slowly he laid his hand against the door and pushed. It gave way easily, smoothly. Merlin had unlocked the door for them. Then Gwaine had another thought. If the door was unlocked, then…

The knight reached his hands to his neck, where the collar Morgana had gladly locked onto him had encircled his neck for the past couple of months. At first, he thought it was still firmly clasped to his neck, but a quick tug changed his mind when it, just as easily as the door, unlocked and fell to the ground. Behind him, he heard Percival mimicking Gwaine's example and tossed aside his own.

"This is our best chance to escape," murmured Gwaine.

Percival gave another nod before he got up and followed Gwaine as he left the cell and they quietly made their way out of the dungeon. When they reached the guardroom, they were surprised spotted at the sight of two guards, different from the ones escorting Merlin earlier, slumped on the table, one still holding a pair of dice loosely within his hand. Gwaine and Percival once again shared a look of disbelief before each went to a guard and took the swords belted their waists.

"We need to get Merlin. I refuse to leave him here longer. I don't know how he lasted so far and I doubt he can last any longer. If only we knew where the guards took him…" Gwaine wondered.

"Morgana. They must have taken him before Morgana. Who else would it be?"

"Of course! The must be taking him to the throne room then. Come on, mate, we can't get him from there but there's the balcony above we can watch and wait for an opportune moment."

"Wait, Gwaine."

Gwaine gave Percival a questioning look.

"We won't be able to get Merlin out."

"Wait, why? We can't leave him!"

"And we can't take him with us. Of all the prisoners Morgana has, he is the most highly guarded. She would notice immediately when he is gone, unlike us who are mere slave to her. It is best we get what information we can get right now and report to Arthur than risk killing all three of us to save Merlin."

Gwaine felt himself wilt as he listened to Percival's reasoning.

"If I find even the smallest opportunity to take him with us, I will take it," swore Gwaine

"And I'll help you, but only if there is a chance."

"Fine, let's go," Gwaine said irritably, leading the way out of the dungeon.

They carefully made their way through the castle, initially slowly in fear that they may run into guards, but it soon became clear that hardly anyone was wandering the castle's halls. They sped up their pace, though still remained cautious until they reached the small staircase that led to the balcony above the throne room. There Percival and Gwaine quietly climbed the steps and snuck to the edge of the balcony, to keep from sight while also gaining a view of the entire room.

Gwaine clenched his hand around the hilt of his sword. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Percival tense up as well, jaw tightening as they both witnessed the events unfolding below them. The throne room was full of various members from Morgana's small army of sorcerers and soldiers, along with the court of Camelot. At the back of the room, upon the throne, sat the witch herself with several of the Blood Guard standing behind, her dark smile feigning confidence but her eyes showed frustration and anger towards the small group just entering the throne room. Gwaine could only assume that they had reached the room first was due in part to Merlin unable to keep up with his captors.

Before her, the guards approached holding between them the lanky, pale man with a mop of raven hair caked in blood and clothed in ragged garments. Reaching the foot of the throne, the guards threw Merlin carelessly on the ground and, unlike earlier in the dungeon when the guard was in the way, the knights had a much better view of the condition their friend was in. His clothes hung loosely from his starved frame, and instead of the bright, cheerful grin that was a constant with the servant, Merlin now wore an emotionless mask, his eyes sunken in his face with dark bruises beneath each. From the skin exposed through the tears in the grimy tunic the servant now wore, cuts and bruises can be seen scattered around. It pained both the knights to see the man in that condition.

"How pathetic you look Merlin. A far cry from the irritating servant whose wit seem to have a mind of its own. Tell me, how much longer can you go on before you snap? You have only to give me the information I seek and all of this can end."

On the ground, Merlin pushed himself from the ground, his body shaking in the effort as he tried to push his feet beneath him. What took only a few minutes felt like hours to Gwaine as he forced himself to watch his friend's struggling form. Now standing his full height with arms tightly clasped behind him, Merlin lifted his chin up and boldly glared at the witch before him, even as he trembled in effort. Even in defiance, Merlin stance was that of a proud servant of Camelot, loyal only to Arthur.

At the gesture of her hand, Morgana had the guards forced Merlin back on his knees.

"Insolence will not be accepted within my court. Right now you are nothing but filth, worth no more than dirt on the ground," Morgana snarled, voice laced with hatred as she leapt out of the throne, strode to the warlock, and grasped him by the chin, jerking it upwards so that green eyes met blue. Merlin did not even flinch as her nails dug into his skin drawing blood while he met her glare with one of his own. Irritation flickered in her eyes before Morgana relaxed her stance; her hand began to caress the side of Merlin's face.

"Oh Merlin, just give up," Morgana crooned, "You have only to swear fealty to me and give me the information I seek and you will have want of naught and the respect our kind has been denied all these years. You can end all of this and live in comfort for the rest of your life, no longer a servant forced into demeaning work, hidden in fear from a tyrant king."

"I'll rather rot in the dungeons to face Tara's blood thirst than swear to you," Merlin chuckled as he finally spoke up, his voice sounding hoarse, "Arthur may be a prat but doesn't make him a tyrant. Blind hatred only led you to follow in the footsteps of Uther Pendragon and bringing yet another tyrant to the throne. You will get nothing from me."

Morgana's eyes hardened. She pulled her hand away only to bring it crashing across the warlock's face, Merlin's head whipped to the side as he let out gasp. It took him a moment to recover, during which the witch had return to sprawl across the throne, the anger never leaving her eyes but a dark smile once again spreading across her face.

"So be it. You leave me no other choice then Merlin. I have been patient with you for far too long and it is about time I had the truth from you. I tried to play nice but your refusal has forced my hand. This is your last offer, tell me the identity and location of Emrys, accept a position amongst your fellow kind, or," Morgan extended her hand and, with a quick incantation, a fireball began to form, its deadly dance seemingly hypnotized her in fascination, "or I will have all of Ealdor burned. I assure you that the villagers will be forced into slavery or slaughtered for their defiance, whatever fits Tara's fancy who also has full authority to do as she wishes with Hunith, as long as it results in death. Give in and I can promise you the safety of Ealdor. Continue in defiance and there will be no hope of survival."

Whispers broke out amongst the nobles of the court as Merlin stared at Morgana, his eyes wide in fear, the slight trembling of his body increased while his hands formed into fists from where they laid next to him, his knuckles white. The warlock was backed into a corner facing a choice that was impossible for him to decide without guilt. Condemn a whole village, his mother included, or condemn him and an entire kingdom. Gwaine felt his ever-increasing anger flare and his heart ached for the servant. Neither offers gave much for the captured warlock. It wasn't until the tightening of Percival's hand on his arm that caused Gwaine to be brought out of his thoughts as his attention diverted to his fellow knight.

"Gwaine, we should find a way out of the citadel while we can," whispered the large knight.

"I'm not leaving Merlin."

"How do you suggest we get him out then?"

"Wait till they return him to the dungeon and break him out."

"His cell is heavily guarded by soldiers and sorcerers. We were lucky to get out and I doubt we can handle even a handful of guards."

"Are you suggesting we abandon Merlin?" Gwaine snarled, hand tightening over the hilt of the sword.

Percival was about to respond when, suddenly, his face grimaced and returned to watching below. It took Gwaine a moment to register the soft chuckle that had caught the knight's attention.

The chuckle that was slowly building up in volume until it became manic laughter that echoed across the hall. There was no mirth to be found, only insanity, as Gwaine once again found himself watching his friend in shock. Merlin knelt, doubled over, his body shaking uncontrollably as the laughter racked his body. Soon the warlock was gasping for breath, his body further folded up and face pressed against the stone floor. Trying to catch his breath and wiping tears that sprung from his eyes, Merlin was unable to stop the snorts and giggles as he began to straighten up and face the throne.

The knight felt a shiver run down his spine as he beheld the wild look of his best friend. A twisted grin spread across his face, tear tracks still glistening down his cheeks, as he met the witch's in insolence.

"You got me Morgana. You found my weakness!" Merlin let at another bout of giggles, his trembling arms began to wrap around his middle as if attempting to hold himself together. "How can I refuse you? How can I sacrifice even more to a kingdom that you consistently love to remind me as being thankless?"

Morgana straighten up, her hands clenching the arms of the throne as she began to lean forward in expectation. With a lift of an eyebrow and a smirk, Morgana asked, "Well?"

The laughter stopped. Merlin's arms unfolded from himself and his hand lay upon his lap. All the servant did at that moment was stare into his palms, into the hands that had, without hesitation, done everything to protect the kingdom; had sacrificed everything for the kingdom. Friend, lover, father, his own innocence, what more must he sacrifice? Must his mother and village be part of the burden? Yet Merlin knew what he must do, must endure.

"I refuse."

"Fine then, guards, remove this filth from my sight." Morgana snarled as the guards took a firm hold of the dejected warlock's arms and dragged him from the room. Rage twisted the witch's face as she let out a shriek and lashed her magic out; one of the guards nearby, unfortunately, crumpled to the ground, dead, as he took the brunt of Morgana's tantrum.

The witch once again regained control of her emotions. She must control herself. It was only a matter of time before she got what she wanted, Emrys will be found and killed. Then, only then, can she tie that last loose end and destroy the only remaining Pendragon for his protector would be gone. She will ensure Arthur's death.

"Tara, prepare the soldiers. You will march upon Ealdor at dawn. Make sure to bring the head of that bastard's mother." Morgana ordered, her tone dismissing the court as she rose from the throne and strode out of the room. The raven-haired woman standing to the side of the room gave a curt nod before following the witch out.

"Come on," Percival said, grabbing Gwaine arm to pull him away to the door, "there is nothing we can do for Merlin. The least we can do is warn Ealdor and ensure his mother's safety before Morgana's men get there. Then we can find Arthur and the others."

With a nod, Gwaine reluctantly followed Percival out, turning his back to the throne room.

"I'm sorry mate, truly sorry," murmured Gwaine, "the least I can do is protect Ealdor."

Still Gwaine could not help shake the feeling that they abandoned the servant as he and Percival snuck out of the castle, stole horses from the stables, and slowly picked their way out of the city before finally entering the Darkling Woods.

Even as the sky darkened into night, the two journeyed on to Ealdor in hopes of reaching the small village in time to warn the villagers. With Morgana orders to leave at dawn, the two knew they would be able to reach the village. They could only hope they had time to evacuate the people.

It was the least they could do for Merlin.

~~~

Sunlight broke through the night as the rising sun appeared across the horizon. Morgana stood by the window and watched Tara pack her horse with ten other sorcerers to leave for Ealdor. Morgan gave a laugh as she thought of the destruction they will soon bring upon the village. Merlin's precious village.

Oh how it would burn.

The one regret Morgana felt was that she would not be there to bear witness of the fear and despair as the sorcerers slaughtered every villager unfortunate to live there. Or how Tara would cut Hunith down bit by bit, screaming until the pain is too excruciating to express; her agony lengthened as Tara's magic keeps her alive long past when her body would had given out.

Morgana felt giddy in her excitement as she thought of the look upon Merlin's face the moment when she would toss his mother head before him. She would leave it there for days. Let him stare into his mother's dead eyes; realize he was responsible for the death of his mother before the witch stomped head into the ground. A fitting end for some peasant woman who brought into the world an arrogant, bastard child.

Then she would execute the knights before him. Make sure they died screaming in agony, much like the many traitors she had already executed before him. The knights' pain would be ten times worse than what his mother would go through. She would rip the knights apart until Merlin breaks.

Until Merlin revealed Emrys.

Emrys would be hers. Once she destroyed what was left of Merlin, after he gives her the information she seeks, she would prepare. She would be ready to confront the sorcerer. Then when she had him trapped, with no way to escape, she would tell him how his friend was killed, how hundreds were sacrificed into keeping him safe from her. She would make him regret for taunting her all these years, for foiling every plan she had made.

For protecting a tyrant.

For betraying to his kin.

For allowing Uther to burn hundreds of innocents upon the pyre.

And for daring to threaten her.

Emrys would never be her doom. She was too strong to be threatened by such a coward who hides in the shadows before greater sorcerers. The Cailleach was wrong about him. It was for her false prophecy that would be the downfall Emrys.

The Cailleach had showed Morgana her true enemy.

Once Emrys was disposed of, there would be no one left for Arthur to stand behind. There would be no one left to protect he dear brother. Emrys death was merely an appetizer to the main feast.

Arthur death would be oh so wonderful.

Morgana continued fantasizing the coming days with a smile while Tara and her company of sorcerers left the courtyard.

For now Ealdor would burn.

For now, she would be patient with Merlin.

Every man had his limits, she only needed to find Merlin's.


	4. Chapter 4

"Any word from Gaius on the matter?" Mithian asked Arthur as she delivered scrolls depicting the status of the building army, garbed in a green dress and hair braided down the middle of her back. The King was found concentrated on one of the many books of magic that piled around him, his elbow resting upon the desk as he supported his head, blue eyes moving back and forth, as he scanned for information. His rumpled clothing and dark smudges below his eyes indicated to the Princess how long the man had been holed up in his chambers.

The effort had been great for the past few months and though the soldiers were still green, they were proficient enough to make them a challenge to even the most seasoned warriors. The army had been nearly doubled in the effort to get every able body man trained, making Nemeth's previously small army a force worth reckoning. Even women had taken to training to care for the wounded for when the war finally broke out. Gwen attempted to persuade Arthur to allow them to be trained for battle and, against Arthur's wishes, led a few women, including her, into training. Being a blacksmith daughter, Gwen had already known of basic swordplay, but continued to improve her skill among the other knights, though the royal couple could often be seen arguing over whether or not Gwen would participate in the battle.

Now they kept up training generally with Leon, Elyan, and the Nemethian knights at King Rodor's direction to ensure the soldiers were prepared while Arthur, Gwen, Mithian, and Gaius focused most of their attentions on the magic side of the battle. One fact they had all agreed upon was that they must discover just what these creatures were and figure out how they could be defeated. Though the sorcerers were formidable, reports showed that there could be anywhere from fifty to a hundred, of varying strengths, working for Morgana. The sorcerers would be difficult but not impossible to defeat given they had enough capable men.

The creatures of the Old Religion were a different matter altogether.

With the influx of new recruits, it was hard for anyone to make time for anything outside of training. Until most recently, Arthur found himself constantly on the training ground, working the men and women through drills, giving a cautionary glance to his wife while she trained, or accompanying Guinevere among the refugees dispersed among the city populace. Even Gaius, along with Helena, kept busy as he instructed those incapable or unwilling to fight how to properly treat injuries and children on identifying herbs and their properties, so as they may be able to gather supplies. It wasn't until two weeks ago that Gaius came to Arthur for permission to search through books to find a method to destroy and rid the kingdom of the monsters that prowled through the streets of Camelot.

With a sigh, Arthur closed the tome in front of him and placed it aside. The blond-haired man rubbed his temples for a moment before his bleary eyes found the Princess and accepted the scroll; he debated for a moment perusing the information before he placed it onto the desk.

"No. Nor can I find anything in these books. Are you sure this is all the books you have?"

"Unfortunately, yes. The Purge had forced us to burn most books on magic we had in the library if we wanted to remain in an alliance with Uther. Those that survived were ones that were vague on the topic or was missed," said Mithian, who crossed her arms and gave Arthur a stern look. "My father told me that Nemeth never held an official stance for nor against sorcerers, but merely tolerated their presence as long as they followed the laws of the land. We were, and still are, a small kingdom, one that could not afford to lose as powerful of an ally as Camelot."

"Did you persecute them," whispered Arthur, who changed his mind and unfurled the scroll but gave no indication that he was reading.

"Truthfully? No. We did not. Nemeth publically denounced magic, but when the few harmless sorcerers made themselves known we turned a blind eye," Arthur's eyes widen at Mithian who in turn stared back defiantly.

"You… let them go?"

"Would you execute me if I said yes? Or my father? Declare war upon my kingdom for allowing those you have deemed 'evil' to live?" Mithian challenged, "We had to condemn part of our kingdom, our people, to appease those such as Uther, to protect the kingdom as a whole. "

"And when one of them turns and stabs you in the back, would you still protect them?" Arthur scoffed, his eyes flashed with the familiar ever-present pain.

Mithian walked to the window beside the desk, her eyes followed the people below as they went about their daily routines; she flipped her braid over her shoulder and her fingers fiddled with the brown ends, lost in thought. When Mithian didn't answer, Arthur began to read the parchment that spoke of the figures and capabilities of the army. The blond-haired man pulled out the report that the most recent patrol had discovered about the opposing side from the border. According to these numbers, the Nemethian army, with the added trainees from the refugees from Camelot and city populace, was a sizable enough force to face Morgana's soldiers but the sorcerers and monsters was still a threat too much for their soldiers to be able to handle. Hell, even Arthur's best knight would be hard pressed to take down a single sorcerer, let alone fifty or more. There has to be some way they could-

"Yes."

Arthur glanced up at Mithian, confused for a moment.

"Of course I would protect them," Mithian said, "The actions of a few does not represent the actions of the whole. There is always evil in the hearts of man, and no matter what you believe, sorcerers are no different. Everyone has the potential to be evil, it is the person themselves that decide whether to given into the darkness."

Mithian gave Arthur one last glance before she turned away from him and the window and walked towards the exit.

There she paused and, without turning back, said, "Besides I wouldn't deem lying for survival to be punishable by death, especially when the lie caused no harm."

With that, Mithian left, leaving Arthur to stare, dumbfounded, at the empty doorway.

Then he pondered upon the war preparations, calculated how many more men and resources were needed, and hoped to distract him from the familiar pain in his heart.

~~~

"That man is the very definition of a stubborn Pendragon," complained Mithian as she entered the Nemethian Court Physician's chamber. Inside Gwen sat next to a young girl as she crushed some herbs, showing and explaining the young maiden. She was clad in leather pants and tunic with hair braided similarly to that of the Princess. Though the dress was not proper for a woman of her status, the Queen had refused to dress "prettily", as she had called it, while everyone around her rushed to and fro in their tasks. Besides, Gwen announced during the start of war preparations, one could not properly execute attacks or parries when restricted by gowns.

Seated at the table next to her was Gaius. The old man who was reading through a dusty book with a stack of mores setup to the side, at a table in the center of the room while Helena, the Court Physician of Nemeth, was treating a patient to the side at the patient's cot. Unlike Gaius' chambers found in Camelot, the room was organized, the herbs kept in careful order in a cabinet while books neatly sat within bookshelves in order of subject matter. Even the vials, beakers, and the likes were kept clean and arranged in another cabinet that stood next to a worktable against the wall.

Helena, who pushed aside strands of greying hair from her kind wrinkled face, merely smiled and nodded to the princess who in turned directed her gaze towards the Queen as she handed the pestle and mortar to the young woman next to her.

"What did he do this time," Gwen said with a sigh as she stood up and greeted Mithian with a hug then returned to her seat and grabbed a book to study after giving the pestle and mortar to the girl. Since their arrival in Nemeth, Gwen and Mithian became close friends and often found themselves swapping stories, from gossip of the court to embarrassing stories of Arthur, at his expense, whenever they found the need to keep their mind off their current situation.

"Got in another conversation on the morals of magic, though admittedly I may have started this one," said Mithian apologetically to Gwen before glancing at Gaius whose shoulders began to tense. "Anyways, still seems he refuses to budge on his opinions on magic users."

Gwen stared at her wringing hands as she felt a cold pit in her stomach, "I don't suspect they will change any time soon."

"And what happens when you finally reclaim the throne and must deal with all the magic users dragged out of hiding or Merlin, if he's even still alive? Will you watch him execute his own friend and hundreds of other innocents who were drawn into another's battle?" Mithian asked, but not unkindly.

"I don't think he would do that," Gwen shook her head, biting her lips; "He would give Merlin a chance to explain. Arthur is just; he would not execute someone he knows to be a good man without explanation from said man."

"Still won't change the fact that he will act out like a spoiled child. Gaius," Mithian turned to the physician, "why can't you tell Arthur anything about Merlin?"

"Because it is not my place to reveal Merlin's secret," Gaius sighed as he turned another page in the book he was reading. "As much as I want to try to prove to Arthur that Merlin is not evil, I cannot tell him everything of the boy, that is Merlin's responsibility though even if I told him I doubt he'll understand without Merlin himself explaining. Besides I doubt he would act rashly against Merlin."

"Why's that," asked Mithian.

"Because Arthur won't condemn someone who is obviously protecting his people, especially not someone close to him."

"So banishment then," Mithian sighed as she sat across from Gaius and plucked a book off the stack and flipped through it.

"If that is the case, milady, I will leave as well," Gaius responded.

"To force Arthur to allow Merlin to stay?"

"No. Because the boy always finds himself in trouble," Gaius mumbled, his face composed but hands trembled, "I need to make sure my boy stays safe."

Gwen sat quietly at the table as she listened to the conversation. The words before her began to blur together as her eyes filled with tears. Tears for the old man who pretended to be fine when he clearly worried for his ward, for her best friend who was most likely being tortured right at this moment, and for her husband who became consumed in his father teachings to hide from the knowledge that his best friend was suffering.

She glanced out the window at the rising sun.

Rubbing the unshed tears from her eyes, Gwen focused once again on the words before her. It was only morning, no need to waste what precious little time they had. As much as she knew Merlin to be strong, Gwen could not help but shake the feeling that now, even more so than before, time was running out.

The faster they figured out what these creatures were, the faster they could destroy them, reclaim the throne, and release everyone from Morgana's iron grip.

It was her responsibility, as Queen, to protect her people.

~~~

"Are you sure this is the right house?"

Percival merely shrugged as they stood at the doorway of a hut found near the outskirts of Ealdor.

Gwaine lifted his hand, hesitated, then knocked upon the door. A few minutes later, a middle-aged woman with long black hair held back by a dark green headscarf and a simple brown dress and frayed apron answered the door.

She smiled and greeted, "Hello?"

"Are you the woman by the name of Hunith?" Gwaine asked.

With a nod, "I am Hunith. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes. We need to talk to you somewhere more… private."

Giving another nod, Hunith stepped aside and bade them inside. The two entered and the woman closed the door before turning to her guests.

"Sorry for the intrusion but we came here to warn you and the entirety of Ealdor," Gwaine quickly explained, "A group of sorcerers led by sorceress named Tara approaches with the sole intent of slaughtering and enslaving the people here. We need to get this entire village evacuated to safety as soon as possible."

"But why? Why is there sorcerers threatening Ealdor. We are a poor farming village, there is nothing to gain here," Hunith asked, shocked at what she was hearing and her voice taking on a panicked tone.

Gwaine glanced at Percival who nodded.

"We… we are knights from Camelot," Gwaine said slowly, gaging Hunith's reaction who immediately composed her face and gave the knight her full attention, "where Arthur and Gwen escaped from after Morgana had captured it a little over four months ago."

Hunith began to fiddle with the loose threads on the corner of her apron, "My son, Merlin, he is the King's manservant, is he ok? Is he safe?"

Gwaine felt a pang of guilt as he thought of his friend still imprisoned in the dungeons; oh how he wished he weren't the one telling Hunith this.

"Merlin… is the reason why Ealdor is threatened. I'm sorry, we barely managed to escape, we couldn't get him out without endangering us all. Morgana has been tor- trying to get information from him for months; he was too weak to be able to escape with us. She threatened you and all of Ealdor to get him to comply with her wishes." Gwaine said as gently as he could but mentally winced at the news he brought.

"We don't have much time," Percival supplied.

The Knights watched as Hunith face filled with dread. It was heartbreaking to watch as the woman held back her tears and focused her full attention on the knight. She stayed composed and, though bright with tears, her eyes showed determination to handle the situation as best she can.

"Then there is no time to waste, let us warn the people," Hunith said, her voice strangely steady.

Gwaine shared a look with Percival before the two gave a nod and began to leave the house following Hunith. Before they reached the door, the woman stopped and turned back to the knights, her composure breaking slightly and revealed the apprehension.

"Do you know what Morgana wants from my son?" she asked.

With hesitation and another shared look, Percival responded, "She wanted information on someone by the name of Emrys and that he joins her army of… sorcerers."

Hunith froze, "You know then."

The knights nodded.

Hunith stared at the knights for moment longer before nodding as well.

"Thank you," Hunith said honestly, tears were close to breaking out. "Now let's get everyone out."

Together, the three went around the village, knocked on doors and stopped passersby. Many were incredulous, even annoyed, but together the knights managed to gather the people into the village's main center. Once gathered the people talked amongst each other, speculating on the reasons why two ragged looking men and Hunith had gathered them together. Gwaine stepped away from Hunith and Percival and shouted for their attention before he began his announcement.

"This village must be evacuated, immediately," Gwaine ordered, going straight to the point.

"For what?" scoffed one of the younger men at the front of the crowd as the talking died down and all looked towards Gwaine expectantly. Many, much like the young man, expressed a variety of confusion and annoyance towards the stranger who demanded they leave their homes.

"Because a group of sorcerers are on their way to slaughter you all," replied Gwaine bluntly.

The villagers began to murmur amongst themselves. Few gave concerns while most expressed reservations, not quite wanting to believe the two strange men. A small portion of the crowd began to express anger at the announcement, believing that their time was wasted on nonsense.

Of those who were angry, another young man stepped forward and called out, "Why would sorcerers attack us? We have caused them no harm." The others around him made agreeing sounds, a few speaking up for an explanation.

"What does it matter? They come seeking your blood. Better to heed our warning rather than chance that we speak the truth, it does no harm to leave for now."

"No harm? You tell us to abandon our homes, our fields and livestock, without cause. How do we know you are not merely bandits waiting to steal our property while be huddle amongst the trees in fear? Who are you to order us around?"

"We are the Knights of Camelot!" Gwaine all but shouted, finally snapping in irritation. They were running out of time, the longer they stood around arguing, the less time they had to ensure the people got out safely. "We escaped in hopes of saving Ealdor from grief, but if you rather stick around and be gutted like pigs for slaughter, go right ahead. Anyone with more of a brain than this arse here would be heading for the trees right now."

With that, the knight turned on his heel towards Percival and Hunith, his face set in a scowl. Hunith placed a calming hand on Gwaine's forearm, her eyes full of concern. She was about to speak up when a man, older with greyed hair and a tangled beard, approached the trio, gave Hunith a quick nod before he turned to Gwaine.

"Some of the villagers will remain here, stubborn in their mistrust of strangers and need to cling to their homes, don't waste your breath on the fools. I for one trust anyone of Camelot. We owe a debt to your King for aiding us with Kanen years ago, though it seems the younger generation have short memories, "

"Do not blame them. They are still uneasy after the previous time Arthur was at Ealdor and that blasted Agravaine led an attack against Ealdor. Though many of us were able to flee, there were still damages done," said another village woman, who joined the group and gave a quick bow to the knights, "I thank you for the warning. Know that your efforts were not completely wasted." With that, the woman scurried off, beckoning to a few children who were chasing each other while the rest of the crowd dispersed.

"Well I'm off as well. I must get my family and friends out of here," said the man, "again, thank you Sir Knights." As the man strode away, Gwaine gave sigh before turning to Hunith.

"We should get you out now Hunith, to a nearby village. They will hunt you down and kill you for your relations with Merlin. The faster you're out of here and hidden, the faster you'll be safe from Morgana," said Gwaine.

"No."

Puzzled Gwaine glanced at Percival who, just as confused, asked, "why not?"

"Because I am coming with you, if you would take me," Hunith said, "I want to help my son in any way I can, and I know you are going to join Arthur."

"It'll be dangerous," argued Gwaine.

"It'll be dangerous on my own as well. If Arthur managed to evade Morgana for four months as you said then it can be assumed that it'll be safer where he is. I refuse to hide when my son is in danger."

Gwaine ran his hand through his hair before finally giving in, "Alright, let's go. Those bastards must be close. The faster we get out of here the better."

Together they returned to Hunith's hut and helped her pack what meager food and supplies she had, anything to help the coming travels to Arthur. Soon they had a small bag of food, which they tied to one of the horses that the Knights tied to a post that stood outside the small hut. All around them, people scurried about in a rushed manner to escape the doomed village while others, too many than the Knights wanted to see, simply shut their door to the panic or glared at the Knights for disrupting the peace.

With unspoken agreement, the three separated and began to help those evacuating out of the village. Gwaine found himself hitching old horses to a rickety wagon and helped the children into the back. His calloused hand gently raising them into their seat while the parents finished packing away the last of their supplies, nodded to the Knight in thanks, and urged their horses away as fast as they can out on the main road towards the nearest village found deeper into Essetir. Percival, along with Hunith, directed people who lacked a horse and wagon towards the forest. Percival warned them from which direction the sorcerers were likely to come from and soon several families navigated their way through the trees, looking to stay hidden from the coming onslaught while they also moved towards nearby villages.

Within the hour, many have left, but there were still families who refused to leave. Gwaine, who had met up with Percival and Hunith at the edge of the forest, ran his hand through his hair, still exasperated towards those who remained.

"There has to be a way though those thick skulls," glowered Gwaine, eyeing the nearest home from which the glow of a fire could be seen through the window.

"There isn't much we can do. We should-" Percival began but was soon interrupted at the distant sound of pounding hooves followed by a cacophony of explosions, and screams. From the distance, the trio saw smoke rise, an ominous, billowing column, from the direction of the blast.

"We need to go mate," said Gwaine, placing a hand on his sword. "There is nothing more we can do for the fools."

"The horses?" questioned Hunith.

"Leave them, they're too far from us right now and there is not much we can do against sorcerers," Percival said. The trio all but ran out of the village, Hunith holding her skirt as she tried to keep up with the fast -paced knights, leaving behind the screams that echoed through the village.

"Let's cut through the Forest of Ascetir, hopefully they won't follow us through the caves that the Princess talked about during their last trip into Ealdor," Gwaine said.

"I can navigate the caves for you. I haven't been there often but I should be able to guide us out the other side." Hunith offered, her hair flew wild about her wide eyes but still held in place by the headscarf.

It was just as they entered the tree line when, seemingly out of nowhere, a woman stepped out from behind one of the trees up ahead of the group.

Tara.

Gwaine felt a spike of hatred flare at the sight of the sorceress, whose face held a smug look and eyes flashed in anticipation. Though he did not know much of the woman, Gwaine knew that she had a hand in tormenting Merlin the past couple of months; the black-haired maiden was never far from Morgana's side. Whoever this woman was, Gwaine knew she had to be powerful, especially when she was, from among dozens of sorcerers, singled out by the witch. Gwaine, along with Percival, fell on instincts and drew their sword. The two settled into a defensive stance; Gwaine took care to ensure that he stood between the sorceress and Hunith, not wanting to allow a chance for his friend's mother to be injured.

"Well," the sorceress drawled, "what a surprise. I didn't realize I would have a pair of slaves out here to play with. You even brought my prey out for me, how cute."

A shiver ran down Gwaine's spine and felt Percival tense beside him. They only had stolen blades and the rags they had escaped in, how the hell could they go against magic?

"Step aside before I run you through," Gwaine warned, raising his sword arm even more as if preparing to lunge at the woman before him.

"Oh please," Tara laughed, and with a flick of her wrist the swords were wrenched from the knights' hands and pointed against them, "I suggest you act like the good little slaves you are and step aside. I have a job to do and I want to spend what time I have to enjoy my work. Besides it's not like I can play with your little friend back in Camelot as I please, though he does have the sweetest screams."

"You bitch!" Gwaine shouted and lunged towards the sorceress, who barked a quick chant as she raised her arm, hand splayed, and flung the knight aside into a tree. Percival tried to stab her while she was distracted, but the sorceress was too quick. She turned quickly, her hand closing into a fist as she shouted another spell. Percival was forced onto his knees, frozen in place, while Tara approached and clicked her tongue in disapproval as she stared down on the knight as if he was merely a child to reprimand.

"Now, now boys, no need to insult your betters by believing you could stop me with your little playthings. But I do have to wonder, just how did you escape? I know Morgana kept you under lock and key," Tara mused as he leaned down into Percival face, "why don't you tell me, hmmm?"

Percival glared but kept his mouth resolutely shut.

"It's fascinating," murmured Tara, "that you were able to escape your cell. You know my mentor herself enchanted the dungeons so that if ever someone tries to escape, even step a toe out of their cell when they should not, she will be alerted. Funny how I don't remember Morgana acknowledging of your disappearance."

Behind her, Gwaine was slowly getting back to his feet, still dazed, to which Tara just threw her other arm out toward him, hand clenched, forcing Gwaine into a similar position as Percival.

"You know I can stand here all day and question you. Hell, I can make you make scream and squirm in ways you can never imagine, but there is no time for that, so, once again, who released you from the dungeons?"

"Go to hell!" Gwaine spat from his position by the tree.

Tare turned away from Percival, smirking, as she strode to Gwaine and knelt in front him. She placed a hand to the side of Gwaine's face, and began to caress his cheek.

"No need for insults. As for how you got out, I'll make you speak," Tara said, her voice took on a steel edge, "I would make the boy scream day in and day out just for that information he has and what he had suffered you will suffer the same. I'll then make you watch your friend writhe in pain, more than I've done before, paying the price for your escape. And, when you told me the truth, I will have the guards drag you back in your cell accompanied only by the screams of the servant. I suggest you tell me the information I want, it won't stop the boy's pain but I can promise it'll lessen it."

"Go. To. Hell." Gwaine repeated, and then spat into the sorceress face.

Tara stood up, wiping the saliva from her cheek, before continued in a singsong voice, "You will pay for that. Did you know there is a dagger enchanted to feel as if you are not only being boiled alive but also your very innards are liquefying? We only used it a few times on the boy, Morgana fears the weapon would cause insanity and render the boy useless. However, just for your insolence, I will make sure I carve up every inch of skin possible with that dagger. Merlin will scream and scream and scream until he can't no more and then he will continue to scream. I will make sure his life is more of a hell than it already is. I will des-"

Her mocking tone stopped and turned into a gasp, her face shocked as she glanced down at her stomach. There a blade, one of the weapons she had forgotten about when she had taken it from the knights, sprouted from her abdomen, the silver gleam of the metal coated in blood. Tara grasped the blade as if to pull it out from her body, her hand not quite strong enough to clench the offending object. Then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the blade slid out, leaving the sorceress grasping at nothing but the air the weapon had once occupied. Tara stared at the wound with a cock of her head before her legs fell from beneath her, her body followed until she knelt slumped on her knees, hand placed on the wound to staunch the blood flow.

Simultaneously the knights fell, freed from the magic, onto their hands while Tara stared fascinated at the blood that now coated her body. Behind her stood Hunith, a bloodied sword in hand, face pale with horror as she stared down at the sorceress. During the whole tirade, the sorceress had failed to acknowledge the presence of Hunith for she was merely a woman of a farming village, with talents in neither magic nor weapons. Tara had believed that Hunith would have been too frozen in fear to be of any danger to the sorceress and had decided to focus her attention on the knights, who provided more of a threat. It was while Tara was mocking the knights when the supposedly helpless woman grabbed one of the fallen swords and snuck behind the sorceress. It was only when fatal blow was dealt when Tara realized her mistake.

Tara was still slumped on the ground as she continued to attempt to staunch the blood flow from the wound while Gwaine got up and gently took the sword from Hunith. Percival, also picking himself off the ground, retrieved the other blade from the ground, sheathing it as he too joined Gwaine beside Hunith as they stood by and watched as the sorceress bled out.

"You know this doesn't change anything," Tara gasped, her breath ragged in pain. "My mentor still has your precious Merlin. She won't stop until he tells her about Emrys, his suffering won't stop."

"Morgana will be stopped," Percival said, glaring down at the woman.

"My Queen will never lose. She is strong ad deserves only the strongest of followers. I accept death. It shows I am too weak to serve my mistress, not when I can be so easily killed by some nobody peasant woman from some farming village. My one regret is not being there when she finally hunts down that bastard, Pendragon and his pet sorcerer."

Tara began to laugh, still gasping as she struggled to drag in another breath.

"The Pendragons took everything from me. My parents! My home! Damn the prophecies," she sneered. "What good are they when you lose everything." She continued to laugh, her mirth punctuated by gasps as tears ran down her face and her eye began to lose focus.

"I hope that when you die, when milady hunts you down and kill you like the vermin you are, that it is not a quick death, Sir Knight. I hope Morgana cuts down your tyrant King and his false Queen into pieces." She folded over in pain, her body beginning to give out due to blood loss. "When my mentor finally catches Emrys and kills Arthur, we will finally be free. Magic will be free."

Tara breath was strangled, her eyes taking on a glazed appearance before her body finally fell to the ground and stilled when her last breath was released. Slowly Gwaine, with a curious thought, leaned down and pulled back the sleeve of the woman's right arm where he saw a patch of skin marred by scarring that could only be the results of a severe burn; just at the edge of the burn was the corner of a tattoo.

"She was most likely a druid," mused Percival as he too saw the mark.

"Another vengeful sorcerer," Gwaine agreed, "and by the sound of it Morgana's apprentice?"

"Morgana having an apprentice," Percival shook his head, "I don't see."

"Neither do I, but it's not a problem anymore," sighed Gwaine, giving the body a glance then observing the village at the distance as smoke plumed from a few houses where sorcerers ignited more houses. Shrieks could still be heard. "We need to go before the others find us; they're bound to notice the disappearance of Morgana's apprentice."

With that, Gwaine led the way through the forest, keeping the sword out in case they had more encounters with sorcerers. Behind him, Percival helped Hunith, giving her a hand in navigating through the dense forest while also ensuring he had the rear covered to avoid surprises. Hunith, throughout the whole journey, had not said a word, but directions to the caves, since she killed Tara; her face was still pale and scrunched in worry. When they reached the caves, the trio swiftly entered and found a relatively dry spot in which they could wait for the cover of night to attempt to leave. Percival unsheathed his sword, gave a nod to Gwaine and left while mumbling something about firewood and food, leaving Gwaine with the still silent Hunith.

"Sir Gwaine?" Hunith called softly from where she sat against the wall staring at her hands that lay folded on her lap.

"I don't care much about that noble stuff with the titles, you can just call e Gwaine" Gwaine kindly said. He gave the woman a tentative smile, though his eyes showed wariness to what the woman was going to ask.

Hunith nodded before continuing, "Gwaine, please tell me, my son? What have they done to my Merlin?"

"He…" Gwaine hesitated, unsure how to tell a mother that the last time he had seen her son he had looked to be at death's door, "he was in a bad way. I honestly don't know how bad, we only got a moment to see him, but they have been… relentless on him."

Hunith's eyes glistened as she continued to stare at her lap and silence began to envelop the two; Gwaine began to wonder just how long it would take Percival to gather wood, uncomfortable as he watched the grief that consumed the woman's face. The quiet knight must had at least been on his way back by now, it's not tha-

"I always tried to protect him," Hunith whispered, catching Gwaine's attention again, "since he was born, I always protected him. It was hard, the village is small and secrets aren't kept long. Merlin was such a lonesome boy for it. He was the odd child that the children picked on, whether for not knowing his father or for always remaining indoors, though not by choice. It was necessary, but I still feel the guilt for keeping him away from the village and alienating him from the other children."

"Why did you?" Gwaine tentatively asked.

"Because of his magic," Hunith said, finally looking up to the knight who walked over and sat by the woman.

"Magic? He learned magic when he was a child?" Gwaine asked, shocked. The knight didn't know much about magic but he did know that sorcerers trained months, even years, to learn magic, yet Merlin learned it when he was a mere child?

"He never learned; he was born with it."

"How is that possible?" Gwaine said incredulously, a newborn capable to wield magic was a foreign thought.

Hunith shrugged, "I only knew what I saw and what I must do. It was within the first week of his birth that I had caught him doing magic; he was just pulling one of his wooden toys to him halfway across the room. I was only glad that at the time that I was alone when I discovered it and that it was only for small things he used his gift. He would do all kinds of tricks, such as floating a feather around the house, things that unless people looked directly into his eyes, would not assume to be magic."

Gwaine was absorbed into Hunith's tale, unable to hide the disbelief of what she was saying about his friend. From his peripheral vision, Gwaine noted that Percival had returned and quietly moved around the cave, setting down the dead rabbit he had managed to find asleep in its burrow, as to not interrupt the conversation between the other two. Gwaine knew the knight had been listening the moment he entered as he too wondered about how and why Merlin was a sorcerer.

"It grew harder to hide him as he grew. I had to force my child to believe that his gift was something to be ashamed of, to be feared. I tried to convince him that his abilities were beautiful, but for every word of encouragement, I gave him ten more in fear. I wanted to let him grow and embrace what he was but ended up watching him hide away from everyone, scared he may accidently reveal his magic or hurt someone. He grew up with nightmares and the shadow threat of the pyre."

"Wouldn't it have been better that h never used magic? Could you not teach him not to use it, especially when he grew older?" Percival asked from his place in the center of the cave where he started lighting the fire. Once lit, Hunith drew herself closer to the fire for warmth as Gwaine picked up the rabbit and began to skin and prepare the meat. Once settled, Hunith answered the knight.

"No. It was too instinctual for him. To tell him not to use his magic would be like telling you not to use your arm. I think he even tried to not use it for a while but eventual it became too much for him contain and instinct took over, nearly revealing himself to another. We agreed from then on that he mustn't stop, so that he could keep what small amount of control he had. He ended up revealing his magic to Will anyways, despite my warnings, whom was the only child willing to extend a hand in friendship. For the most part, he had nearly no control most of his young life, and when I found out that Will had known due to his accidental use, I knew I had to do something. I decided to send him away to Camelot."

"To protect him, you sent him away to the center of magic persecution?" Gwaine asked.

"Gaius was the only one I knew who had studied magic, it wasn't like I could go around asking for a mentor in magic. There was no one else I could turn to and I couldn't just let Merlin continue here waiting for the day knights would come and drag him to Uther," Hunith trembled, tears began to travel down her cheeks, making a path down. "I did the best I can. Every day I worried. I had to remind myself that I had to send him away, that it wasn't a mistake. What other choice do I have? Watch him burn in the pyre or turn against the world, which left him as an outcast, in hatred? I wanted to show him his magic was to be cherished while also instilling that he must take care not to be caught, nor should he fault those around him for their fear."

"It must have been tough on you," Gwaine said sympathetically, as he watched his friend's mother crumbled even more though she clung onto her previous composure, not wanting to give in completely to her grief.

"Yes it was hard. I often found myself waiting for the moment a messenger would inform me that my son was dead. Though I feared he would be caught, he managed to keep his head down in Camelot. My son did as he always done, he survived," Hunith whispered, staring down on her hands once more. "Though life in Ealdor and, later in Camelot, was tough, I was at least able to keep him from other outcomes. At least he did not grow up to be like the sorceress outside, drowning in her own pain and hate, lashing out against the innocents for the hatred of one king. I can at least be grateful that if w-we don't get to him in time, he is not one of the poor souls that were twisted by persecution."

Gwaine placed his hand on Hunith's shoulders, looked her in the eye and gave a firm squeeze in comfort and said, "Don't worry, we will get to the Princess, see what his plans are, and when we are ready, when we storm the castle. I'll make sure you get your son back."

"Even with his magic?" Hunith asked, her tone low but her body stilled, frozen in anticipation for what the knight was going to say.

"It was because of his magic that we were able to escape," Percival said.

"And I'm assuming there are many times in the past he had done something to save my ungrateful hide from trouble. Merlin is my friend, I will do everything to keep him safe," Gwaine said.

With a small smile and watering eyes, Hunith found herself murmuring, "Thank you."


	5. Chapter 5

"Sire, I found something," Gaius said as his eyes skimmed through the opened tome before him. His eyes were bloodshot from the long hours spent on research within the small chambers they were forced into. Since more and more people where trained in the arts of healing and less people were needed to train, Gaius was able spend his full time, along with Gwen, Mithian, Arthur, and the occasional knight, on researching every book available for information on the creatures that now invaded the kingdom. However, they crowded the physician's chambers and poor Helena eventually had to kick them out so she couln focus on her own patients.

The room they now sat in was a small guest chamber converted to their own purposes. Servants had gone and removed the furniture, which was replaced by a single large table and enough chairs for all who participated in research. The mountains of books that they had managed to find, many recently found hidden beneath floorboards in the library, stood stacked upon the table, each tome covered in years of dust that had clung to every nook and cranny of the books, even after the tomes were pulled off their shelf. The books had stayed unused for years; few were used for Nemeth never found need for the information within, unlike in Camelot where Gaius had to perform extensive studies to combat against the magical threats that often occurred. The group delved further into the books, most of which had never been so immersed in the topic of magic before. Arthur would still shift uncomfortably in his spot as a rare book would give detailed explanations on certain enchantments. Whenever this occurred, Arthur often found the Nemethian Princess shooting a stubborn glare at the King; she was still challenging his views on magic and his refusal to see the wrongs of Uther's teachings.

It was all Arthur could do to keep his stubborn hold onto his father's teachings.

Though there were multiple time before that had left him in doubt over whether magic was truly evil, Arthur still wanted to full immerse himself into the belief. How else can he view magic when his people were slaughtered before its ruthless attacks? Or how both his parents were brought to their deaths from magic's carelessness? Even his sister, his kind, loving sister, degraded into a mad woman under the taint of magic. Nothing he had seen left him to believe magic was good.

Yet he found himself in thoughts of the rarely seen good magic and the undeserved suffering those accused of sorcery and those who had magic endure, all of which the King had experienced and observed over the years. The mysterious, blue orb of light that guided him to safety when he found himself trapped in the cave trying to find the Mortaeus flower for his dying servant. The unicorn that meant no harm that he had killed without a second thought. Balinor, the last Dragonlord, tricked then hunted down far beyond Camelot's borders, left to live alone in caves and never to lead a normal life. The druid child mercilessly hunted down by his father and the deceased child that had possessed Elyan for the wrongs done against him.

But most importantly, during past couple of months, Arthur could not help but think of his servant; the most recently revealed sorcerer. Arthur felt hurt, betrayal and concern swirled within him, and each battled for dominance, every time he thought of Merlin.

No. He couldn't allow himself to view the boy in a good light. Magic was a disguise, a monster hidden behind a friendly façade. Monsters were not to be trusted.

Monsters were not to be pitied.

No. Not even when they were beaten to the ground. Not even while the whip bit cruelly into their skin. Not even when left behind to endure months of living hell.

Monsters could not be pitied.

Let them get what they deserve. Humans who fell to the seduction of magic were weak. The promises and wonders, the power, magic gave would only turn against them; it made them hunger for more at their own expense and those around them. Sorcerers lost their right as humans the moment they opened the spell book and recited their first spell.

Still that nagging thought remained in Arthur's mind, of his once best friend in the witch's clutches. Often times, as his mind drifted from the tome sitting before him, Arthur would wonder about the goings of Camelot and of the condition his manservant was in. It was moments such as these that it was not just concern for the boy, and not even the betrayal, that made Arthur want to reject everything he had learned about magic. To stubbornly argue with Mithian and Gaius, to turn away at Guinevere's disapproving look whenever he said something particularly against magic, it was all a ruse to that kept the King detached from any real emotions associated to magic or more specifically the people who used sorcery. It was while Arthur had found himself once again pondering over magic when Gaius had interrupted him in discovery.

With a sigh, Arthur stood from his place on the table, walked towards Gaius, and leaned over the old man's shoulder to read what Gaius had discovered. From around the table Mithian and Gwen, along with Leon, who had left the soldiers' training in the hands of Elyan, glanced up at the two and waited for the news.

"What is it Gaius?" Arthur asked.

"Not much I'm afraid, Sire, but at least some idea to what we are dealing with," responded Gaius, his fingers tracing through the words. "Based on the description here, I can identify the creatures as chimeras. They are creatures of the Old Religion that can be summoned to aid High Priestesses."

Arthur waited for more, but Gaius merely looked at him, "That's it?"

"I'm afraid so, Sire."

"After searching for days, can't we find a single book that can tell us how to rid ourselves of them, only a name?" Arthur asked, frustration and anger grew as he moved away from Gaius and planted his hands flat against the table to stare at the grains in the wood in thought.

"These books, unfortunately, can only provide a small portion for the type of information we seek. Any books that provide more than what we have here can be considered treason according the laws Nemeth adopted to stay in an alliance with Camelot while the books that were found hidden does not cover much on the creatures of magic."

"So what use is it having the name?" Arthur shouted, losing control as he felt their chances to reclaim the throne slipping. Silence fell on the group after his outburst. Moments later, Arthur straightened himself and pinched the bridge of his nose when he turned to Gaius again, "Sorry Gaius, I just feel…"

"Helpless?" Gaius asked, his eyebrow rose at the King, "Sire, we are not without options."

"And what other options are there, Gaius?" Arthur asked and though the frustration was still present if a bit calmed down.

Gaius hesitated, glanced at the book again before he looked up to the King, "I believe we should look to others more… knowledgeable on this."

"I only know of you who could provide the most information, who else can inform us?" Arthur asked, confused.

"I suggest we seek out the druids for answers, Sire."

Arthur gave Gaius a look, one that told the physician that the King believed him to be out of his mind for giving such an idea. It was at this moment that Gwen chose to speak up.

"The druids would really be our only choice. Who else could it be that knows magic as much as a community surrounded by it?"

Rubbing his face, Arthur sighed, "Even if we can find them here, why would the druids help out someone who has hunted down their kinds for years?"

"But did you not decide to respect and even refrained from persecuting their people? Surely they will recognize that you are different from the previous regime and would want to make peace."

"Do not forget that, if the druids in this area are anything like the ones we have seen in Camelot, they will be loyal to Emrys. They would not wish harm to an important figure in their prophecies. If we were to inform them of Morgana's hunt for him, they may be more obliging to help," supported Gaius.

Arthur mulled over the idea before his shoulders slumped in resignation. He did not want to go for help to the druids, but they could not turn away from the possibility for more support in the coming war. If they could get the druids aid, they may be able to help with not just these chimeras, but also the sorcerers. For the good of his people, Arthur knew he must at least attempt it. In the back of his mind, Arthur heard a voice mock him in his hypocritical plan to enlist the help of druids yet not want accept magic.

"Mithian, do you know if there are any local groups of druids nearby?" Arthur turned to the princess and his inquisitive eyes met hers.

Mithian matched his gaze with one of wariness, "I know of one."

"Would you show us the way?" Arthur asked.

Mithian waited, as if pondering over the question, before she lifted up her chin and replied, "Yes, as long as I am not leading death to them."

Arthur looked away while he shifted uncomfortably then gave Mithian a nod in agreement, "I promise we will harm none. As for when to leave, shall we prepare to go now? The faster we meet them, the faster we know what we are dealing with. Elyan send for Leon, we will leave within the hour."

Elyan gave a nod then left the room.

"Then I will inform my father," Mithian said as she stood and left the room too. As the princess was exiting the room, she had to maneuver around a young servant boy, one of the refugees from Camelot, who had come to deliver a message.

"Sire," the boy said with a deep bow, "a message from King Rodor."

Arthur extended his hand, which the boy carefully placed the scroll and, with another bow, the servant left the room. Arthur opened the message and read; as his eyes traveled down the scroll, his face grew pale. He then found himself placing the parchment before Gaius on the table then he slumped into the chair beside the physician, his hands limp upon the arms of the chair.

"No," sounded Gaius' strangled whisper as he too read through the message.

Guinevere looked between the two, and then settled on Arthur, "What happened? What does it say?"

"It's a recent report from Kind Rodor's messenger that was sent to Essetir. King Lot has decided to join us in our endeavor against Morgana," Arthur said, his voice detached, still in shock over the contents of the parchment. The messengers were sent again recently to a few kingdoms, in hope that their more impressive army would fare better to convince the kings to aid their endeavors against the witch.

"That's good, isn't it? We have the full support of another kingdom," Gwen said. The Queen bit her lips in worry as she wondered over Arthur's strange reaction. He should be happy rather than the dejected attitude he was expressing now.

"Yes it is, but it says there was an attack against Essetir from Morgana, one that is forcing Lot to take action in fear of another attack."

"Why would Morgana attack Essetir?" Gwen asked incredulously, though she had a foreboding idea of the reason.

"King Lot wondered as well, especially against such a small farming village."

Dread grew, Guinevere understood the implication but she knew she needed the confirmation, "Which village?"

"Ealdor," Arthur whispered, eyes unfocused as he remember of the village of good people who struggled daily to survive, the people whom he had taught to defend themselves and who had sheltered him in his own time of need, "was found burnt to the ground."

"And the people?"

"It doesn't say names, but according to what it says," Arthur gestured at the parchment, "half the villagers were found slaughter in their homes while the others were found spread out in the surrounding area and villages."

Gwen felt her heart stop; her hand flew over her mouth as she tried to process the news.

"Morgana must be getting desperate," Gaius said, his shoulders more slumped than before as the grief he kept well hidden weighed him down even more.

"We should leave for the druids now, I can't imagine how much time we have left, not when she's going to such extreme measures," Arthur agreed.

"I hope Hunith made it out," Gwen said reproachfully, wringing her hands. She could not help but think of the slaughter Morgana had brought upon the peaceful village, the suffering those who died had gone through the pain that would be promised to Hunith if she had been caught as well. Gwen glanced towards Arthur to which he met with one of depressed knowing; they knew that Morgana targeted the village in another effort to get Merlin to talk. Whether she got what she had wanted was unknown, the uncertainty of which enough to make the royal couple tremble in fear for their kingdom.

Arthur stood once again, mentioned something on preparing the horses, and then walked out. All the while Gaius was carefully rerolling the parchment, his hands still trembled in concern for his friend in Ealdor. Though he wanted to believe Hunith escaped Morgana's men, Gaius knew that the women had slim chances of surviving. With that thought, Gaius took a deep breath to calm him and composed his face into that of the calm, levelheaded physician he was when dealing with patients.

"For now, there's nothing we can do but hope Hunith did escape in time. Let us go help Helena attend to her patients," said Gaius as he gave the parchment one last look before leaving. Gwen gave a quick nod before she followed with her mind still on the kind woman in the green headscarf.

~~~

"You know Merlin, as infuriating as it is not getting you to speak, it's been fun," said Morgana, her hand grasped Merlin's hair and pulled his head back so that his pain-glazed eyes were on her. "If it wasn't for your knowledge of Emrys, you would have been dead long ago for all the trouble you caused me."

Morgana let him go before she slinked off to a table at the side of the room and placed a dagger back. Merlin groaned as he felt every inch of his body in pain from the few slices that Morgana had carefully carved into him with an enchanted blade. Each cut caused him to feel as if his insides were being gouged out, and though the wounds themselves weren't deep, the pain burned throughout his entire body. It was all he could do not to scream for each time Morgana's blade bit into his skin.

"I already got reports of smoke from the direction of your little village by the way. I wish I was there to see it, it must have been a beautiful sight," Morgana laughed as she picked up a coil of rope. Her hand stroked the fibers as though it was a beloved pet and then she turned to her prisoner.

Merlin stared at the witch defiantly while he still attempted to even out his ragged breathing. Morgana returned to where Merlin stood chained to the wall and, with a flick of her wrist, caused the chains to fall from Merlin's manacles, taking away the only support Merlin had. After his chained arms held up part of the his body for months, Merlin's legs buckled under sudden weight of his body and caused the servant to crash to the ground with only his arms taking a brunt of the force from the landing. The servant gasp out in pain as his left wrist twisted into an awkward position, not far enough to do significant damage, but enough that left his wrist throbbing from where it had landed encased in manacles.

With another gesture of her hand, guards outside entered the cell and grabbed ahold of each arm, lifting Merlin back onto his feet in front of the witch. One more flick of her wrist separated the manacle and allowed his arms apart.

"Pull his arms behind him," ordered Morgana as she circled the trio and reattached the chains behind the servant once the guards secured them in place. Then, quickly, wrapped and knotted the rope's end to the manacles, making sure it was properly secured before she handed the other end to one of the guards.

"Put that through the pulley," gestured Morgana to above the sorcerer. The guard complied, pulled it all the way through but left a bit f slack on the rope. With a nod of her head, the guard, who still held onto Merlin, bowed and left to stand guard outside the cell once again while the other guard remained to hold the rope. Without the guard support, Merlin nearly fell to the ground, stopped by the strain in his shoulders as the rope pulled his arms up into a direction it was incapable of doing. Though his legs were shaky from disuse, Merlin forced himself to stay on his feet to keep pressure off his shoulders and arms. While Merlin struggled in his new position, Morgana stood before the servant once more, admiring the results.

"I could only imagine the screams your mother made when Tara tore her apart," Morgana taunted with a smirk spread across her face. Merlin spat into Morgana's face in retaliation; the witch merely wiped the spittle off and gave the guard a nod. The guard tugged the rope, which forced Merlin to gasp out in pain as his arms were forced up his back, putting tension onto his shoulders. After a moment, the guard allowed slack back into the rope and a little of the tension eased.

"Now Merlin, no need to be rude," Morgana said coldly. It was at this moment when the cell doors opened once more. Two more guards, neither the guard that was currently stood guarding the cell, entered, dragging between them a ragged figure. A young man, clad in typical druidic clothing, was marred in cuts and bruises; he look to be barely conscious.

"Merlin, why don't you meet my druid friend here? Since coming here, they have been next to impossible to find, my men have only found a few. We found this one skulking at the border trying to leave. Of course I ordered all my men to capture any druids leaving; you're not the only one who knows about Emrys, yet they are as tight lipped as you are," Morgan said while she walked towards the other prisoner and gave him a quick kick in the gut.

"We are loyal only to the Once and Future King and," the man gasped, doubled over in pain, and gave a quick glance to Merlin, "Emrys. I will not support the bloodshed you will bring upon this land."

"I am promising freedom, for the first time in years, to all the magic users but here you are calling it bloodshed?" sneered Morgana.

"What you call freedom is forcing every sorcerer you find into your army. Those who refuse you are tortured until they give in or die. Even those without magic, those who are powerless against you, fear you. The gods have mercy on any of your subjects if you or one of your followers heard them speak ill against you. You are the same tyrant Uther was during the Purge; actually, you are worse than Uther, at least Uther did not have the capabilities of finding those who did not want to be found nor did he murdered as he pleases," spat the druid.

Morgana turned to the table and picked up the enchanted knife once again. Then she walked up and jammed it into the man's shoulder as Merlin shouted for her to stop, unable to turn his eyes away as the druid drew back his head and screamed. The knife was buried to the hilt in the man's shoulder, Merlin could only imagine the pain the man was feeling if it was already unbearable from the shallow cuts he had received. After a moment, the witch wrenched the dagger out, leaving the druid breathless, with only the guards keeping him upright on his knees.

"Never compare me to Uther Pendragon again," shouted Morgana, blood splattered from the knife onto her black dress and across her crazed face. "Now tell me who is Emrys!"

"I'll rather die," groaned the young man, still shaken from the pain the knife caused.

"As you wish," Morgana smiled coldly. The witch began to incant, her hand splayed toward the druid. Her eyes flashed in gold when she finished the incantation and the druid began to writhe in agony, the agony too much for him to voice it. Merlin watched in horror as the druid's body began to convulse, causing his arm to be wrenched out of the guards grasp. Though it was minutes, it felt like hours to Merlin before the man finally stopped convulsing, his body stilled. Morgan walked over to the body and gave it a kick before walking back to Merlin.

The witch leaned towards Merlin, whispering, "This is what happens to those who refuse to recognize their Queen. I have been too lenient with you Merlin, so this is your final chance. I will make you speak, Merlin, and when you do, if you don't give in now, I will kill you. I promise you, your death will not be quick."

"Never," Merlin whispered back.

"Then you will suffer all the more."

Morgana stood back with a smile, placed the dagger once more on the table, then turned to the guard, "All the way up before you tie the rope."

With that, Morgana left the dungeons as the guard began to pull the rope again, this time he pulled as far as it can go, lifting Merlin up with a few inches between his feet and the ground. Merlin gave a groan as his body was double over and his arms were forced up again. When the full weight of his body was on his shoulders, the guard tied the rope to a hook on the wall before leaving the sorcerer alone.

It was all Merlin could do not to scream as his shoulders began to give to the weight of his body, the strain too much for the joints to handle. Even after all the weight the lack of nourishment had caused him to lose since captured, his body weighed far too much for his shoulders. Pain lanced through his arm when his left shoulder finally gave, the joint forced out of his socket that caused Merlin to scream in agony. Soon after his right shoulder was dislocated as well and forced out another hoarse scream from Merlin. Tears slid down from his eyes as he gasped out for a breath.

It had been minutes, or even hours, Merlin was not sure any more, when the servant's arms went numb from the pain, though his body still trembled. The warlock knew, from his experience of being the ward of a physician, that his arms going numb were not a good sign, only a sign of how severe the damage was to his shoulders, but he felt grateful for the slight relief from that pain. With Morgana gone and the pain gone down to a dull throb, Merlin was able to collect himself enough to think.

The servant couldn't help but ponder over everything he had learned from the witch. His heart clenched in pain as he thought of Ealdor, of his mother, even of the people of Camelot, everyone who had suffered since Morgana took the throne. It was then that Merlin felt fresh tears silently fall down his face.

His village, his mother, his friends, Merlin felt useless as he thought of everyone he had failed, everyone who had suffered for Morgana's gain. From the sounds of it, Morgana had brought about another age of slaughter, one worse than the Purge that Uther's grief had caused decades ago. She hunted magic and non-magic users alike, slaughtering all those who dared stand in her way. Though logically Merlin knew better, it still felt as if he failed to stop Morgana from bringing the kingdom into chaos.

He was there when she came. He had power. He was Emrys, damnit, the most powerful sorcerer to ever live, and yet he had allowed Morgana to take over Camelot for over four months.

He really was pathetic.

He couldn't even save his own mother.

His emotions were roiling, his guilt too much as his silent tears became sobs that racked his punished body. He could feel himself falling to pieces; each day tore another part of him. Outside he hurt. Inside he hurt. He grasped at the straws of sanity and he knew he was at an edge, the breaking point. Hell, he had been at breaking point long ago; he was just too stubborn and loyal to allow himself to give in.

Merlin began to hyperventilate, panic and anxiety rose and, in response to his rising emotions, his magic began to burn more furiously within, as it had for months since bound. The nonstop pain the magical build up had already caused, the pain he was able to keep hidden from the witch out of fear that Morgana would discover that the servant had more power than she realized, increased even more.

He couldn't do this anymore.

He was losing too much.

It was too much for him to bear.

Control of his emotions escape him and left his magic running wild throughout his very self. Merlin began to sob as pain and grief consumed him. The two drenched in the magic the roared through his body and slammed against the barriers the magical restraints had created. His magic lashed out for the first time in months and pushed more and more against the bounds. Soon his magic was beyond his control, he felt as if he was being flayed and gutted alive before his magic's rebellion. The silver chains began to burn white against into his skin as it tried to keep the magic at bay. Merlin's sobs turned into screams, as the pain intensified for his magic had no means of escape. The magic built up even more against the restraints as if sensing it was close to freedom and slowly broke down the barriers.

In a burst of power and pain, his magic broke free, leaving Merlin momentarily breathless. Then he resumed screaming, his voice reaching new levels as his released magic tore through his body, too much for him his mind and body cope. Merlin was so deep in agony that he didn't realize that his shrieks transformed into a deep guttural roar, forming harsh words of a foreign language that none but her understood. All his magic, all his power, saturated into his voice, once again finding purpose since it released from the restraints.

After minutes of screaming, the barriers finally slammed down and closed off the magical release. The remnants were channeled into Merlin's scream before it was finally used up. In the wake of the magical outburst, Merlin went limp, his sight fading as his body tried to drag him into unconsciousness. The magic still churned just beneath surface, but the use of his magic had allowed him to gain a semblance of control over his power again.

Before he gave into the darkness, Merlin thought of his mother again; the woman who softly stroked his hair and sang him to sleep.

Merlin wondered for the first time why he was still fighting.

~~~

The wind provided the lift beneath his wings as Kilgharrah flew over the mountainside; his keen eyes searched the land below for prey big enough to appease his hunger. His mind wondered from his task as he contemplated over the last few months. It had been a long time since he had last had contact with his Dragonlord, and though he did not want to admit it, the Great Dragon was worried. Kilgharrah knew he should be glad that his Dragonlord had not a need to contact him, it would mean that he was safe; yet the dragon could not shake the feeling that something had happened. Danger followed the Once and Future King and Emrys around every corner, it was odd that it had remained calm around the two for this long. Nevertheless, Kilgharrah saw no purpose to returning to Camelot without Merlin's call and lest he was in need he would rather be here, leagues away from the kingdom, where he could hunt and live safely without care of being spotter by people.

Kilgharrah angled his body into a steep dive when he spotted a young buck below. His talons were outstretched, ready to grab the animal when something screamed through his head, startling him out of his dive. Kilgharrah barely steadied himself as fear and grief pierced his mind and caused him to hover as he listened to what he knew was a call. After five minutes of processing, the screams stopped and the dragon had already changed his course.

There was only one person who could contact him, and the dragon did not like what he had heard. On the surface the scream and expressed pure agony, both mentally and physically, but the dragon had received the message. The scream also held desperation, one that spoke volumes to the dragon of the situation his warlock was found himself in. He forced power into each wing stroke and urged his body to speed towards his new destination

He wasn't just worried about destiny either. The young warlock, though they had a rough beginning, had become the only thing Kilgharrah could call a friend, and the undercurrent of insanity in his friend's call only served to drive Kilgharrah even faster.


	6. Chapter 6

"They're here," Mithian murmured.

Mithian sat straighter on her horse, along with Arthur and Elyan, in the middle of a small, quiet meadow about a half a day from the city. After a short debate, they decided to go without guards in hopes of appearing peaceful to the Druids, especially, the Nemethian princess grumbled, when the King of Camelot was involved. Besides, guards were unnecessary, and the quicker they reached their destination the quicker they were to finding a solution against the chimeras. With only a half a day distance, Arthur decided not to comment but could not help wonder about the location of the Druid being so close to the city. It somewhat surprised the King, at least, until he realized this was the level of trust those Druids had for a king who did not hunt them down.

"Where are they?" Elyan asked, his eyes scanned the forest trees for a robed figure. Arthur wondered as well when he spotted from across the clearing a cloaked figure that stepped out from behind the trees. The stranger pulled down his hood and revealed a middle-aged man whose hair was just beginning to grey and face lined by his years of nomadic life.

"Princess," bowed the druid. He glanced, suspiciously, at her companions; his eyes lingered on Arthur then strayed to the sword belted to his hip. Arthur wore his typical attire, chainmail and cape, along with Elyan who bore the Pendragon crest with pride. The King had not wanted to intimidate the druids but decided to be open to them of who they were. The druids would only be more wary of him if he tried to hide his identity.

Arthur noticed the druid eying his sword and, with a signal to Elyan to follow his example, the King unbelted his sword and presented the sheathed weapon, handle first, to the druid.

"We have no quarrel with your people, just a request," Arthur said, careful not to make sudden action as to scare the man.

The druid shook his head, "There is no need nor time for suspicion, Sire. We have been awaiting your arrival. Keep your weapons but please refrain from drawing them out."

"We wish to speak to the Chieftain of your clan," requested Mithian while Arthur and Elyan belted their weapons back to their hips.

The druid gave one more bow then motioned for the trio to dismount their horses and follow him into the trees. Though hesitant, Arthur threw his leg over his horse and jumped to the ground, around him his companions also dismounted. Together they entered the forest.

Not long after, they approached two large oak trees with gnarled roots carpeted the ground and whose branches formed an archway. It was at this archway that the druid stopped them and gave a small incantation; once finished a glimmer of gold of a barrier flashed across then faded from between the trees. The druid beckoned forward with assurance that the barrier they had briefly seen was no longer there; after they moved through, the druid turned back and replaced the barriers.

The seen that met them left Arthur momentarily speechless for past the trees was the largest Druid campsite he had ever seen; dozens of druids scurried about, busy in their daily chores, while children ran about in play. The outskirts of the camp held a mismatch collection of tent set haphazardly about while closer to the center tents became a more uniform in the colors of the forest and arrangement. Of the druids themselves, many were performing various medial tasks; as the group walked past, many nodded to the Princess in greetings, and none held fear or loathing against the royalty, an emotion that almost all sorcerers Arthur had met held.

"This has to be the largest druid camp I've ever seen," remarked Elyan, just as surprise as his King.

"There was never this many last time I visit. It seems as if this camp grew triple its size since I last came here," Mithian agreed.

"That's because it has, milady," answered the druid, somber. "Many of our sister clans who dare hide within Camelot's territory fled when Morgana began to hunt them down."

"These are the druids from Camelot?" Arthur asked. It surprised the King the they would chose to leave the only kingdom that allowed magical freedom. Arthur could assume Morgana's reign would be kind to those who shared a kinship in sorcery.

The druid nodded, "Druids are peaceful by nature. When Morgana took the throne, she went to every clan and sorcerer she could find and forced them to swear subservience to her. She preaches peace and freedom for all yet she slaughters anyone who dares not follow her rule. This, she claims, is our duty for the victims of the Purge to bring about our vengeance on the people who wronged us. Some say she had brought another Purge on us."

"So the druids here do not support her?"

"No. We are follower of Emrys, we believe in the world the Once and Future King will create."

"And what world will this King create?"

"King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot," the druid said, he met Arthur in the eye and gave him a slight smile, "you are destined to bring about peace and unification of Albion and return magic to the land."

The druid's proclamation left the King speechless; Gaius had mention those prophecies in explanation of Emrys, only giving and idea on the importance of protecting the individual, but never had he mentioned to what extent or his own involvement. The amount of faith they placed on it and what he was supposedly destined to do was astounding. These people had not only supported someone raised in the ideals that had led to their persecution, but they also chose to defy Morgana on pain of death in those beliefs.

Guilt struck the King over what he and his father had done to these people and what he had so stubbornly chose to believe. How could he think of them as monsters? From where he saw, none of the druids matched his stereotypical view of sorcery. Rather than a face twisted in hatred and eyes that promised death with a gold vengeance, the druids paid the king no mind, attentive on when to get supper completed rather than murder the source of their persecution. Arthur had seen firsthand what magic was capable, Arthur knew that if magic was as black and white as Uther taught him to be then these people would be more than enough to overthrow the regime if they had wanted to do.

Then what of those sorcerers who attempted to kill the royals of Camelot? Were they really just a small portion of the magical community? How many innocents, like the people before them, had they executed for the sole fact that they practiced sorcery?

The King thoughts drifted to his manservant, and everything that revelation had brought forth, of the pain, anger, betrayal that swirled around the servant. Would a good man really choose to lie for nearly a decade? In the back of his mind, a small whisper of agreement responded; however, Arthur could not release the hurt. Merlin had served him for years, years that the King had trusted man, years in which Arthur spoke of matters he had told to none other than his supposed friend. Arthur's dreams, fears, insecurities, everything that the King had held close was laid bare before the servant and all those times Merlin had been keeping secrets from him. Merlin had never trusted Arthur.

Once again, Arthur was brought back to the evils of magic. Arthur could not cast aside his father's teachings, not when the supposedly honest Merlin turned liar or his once beautiful and kind sister degraded into a crazed witch who did not hesitate to kill any who stood in her way. Magic, capable of bringing out the darkness of a person, was not something that should be allowed free reign in the kingdom, if only to protect his people from its taint. The druids were peaceful by nature, and Arthur regretted the pain they had suffered over the years, but that did not mean sorcerers were innocent nor were the druids immune to the evil of magic. Arthur found his mind shying away from the morality of magic users behind the solid wall Uther's teachings; the lessons of his youth slammed back into the King's mind all the while a small voice of logic protested the unfairness such prejudiced view were on the people.

Upon reaching a large tent found near the center of the campsite, Arthur shifted his attention away from his musings. There was still time to ponder the nature of magic, for now the King must focus on what the druids could reveal to them. The druid who led them lifted the flap and, with a bow, bade the group into the tent. The trio ducked inside and found three elderly men within; three druids, with solemn expressions upon their face, regarded the new arrivals.

Mithian gave a slight bow of her head to the eldest of the three who stood at the center. The wrinkles that lined his face told that of the hard life he had lived and the responsibilities he had borne on his shoulders. His white hair was thin and short and, clenched within his hand, was a gnarled staff that seemed to support the entirety of his hunched figure.

"Welcome Princess Mithian," nodded the druid before he turned to address the other two, "and welcome friends, I am Cyric, druid chieftain of the clan-"

"You're the druid who gave us the Cup all those years ago. Why are you here?" Arthur interrupted in surprise, addressing the druid he recognized that stood to the right of Cyric. Beside him, Mithian shot the King a glare for his rare display of impropriety.

"I am," the druid agreed. "I'm the one called Iseldir, chieftain of the druid clan who had once protected the Cup of Life. I led my people from our caves when Morgana Pendragon took the throne for she hunted us down for our servitude and knowledge of the warlock known as Emrys."

~~~

"Please, your Highness," pleaded an aged man. Behind him stood his wife who embraced their daughter, a young maiden, tightly against her chest. The woman wept and tried to shield her daughter from the view of the Queen who sat, dressed in the splendors of royalty, with the pride and confidence of a lady of court.

"I see no problem. Your daughter would be taken well care of," replied Morgana, her eyes stared down at the small family in disbelief and irritation.

"So you can turn my daughter into another one of your monsters? I see what you do to them," spat the mother, her maternal instincts pushed aside her fears to protect her daughter. "We kept our daughter safe for _years_ from the pyre, we will keep her safe from your corruption."

"I think I had about enough of this nonsense," Morgana said. With gold in her eyes and a gesture of her hands, the magic wrenched the mother from the girl and caster her into the marbled floor, along with the father. Though they both tried to protest, another flash of gold kept their mouths sealed as well.

"NO!" shrieked the girl, watching her parents in horror. "Don't hurt them! _Please!_ "

"A child such as you should not be wasted on the likes of a poor farmer and his wife. My dear, you have a superb talent in sorcery," Morgana said to the girl and turned to pair she held down. " **Swefe nu.** "

The girl's parents slumped to the ground as they succumbed the sleep enchantment.

"I never used it willingly, I swear," she continued to cry. Then she knelt by her mother, and began to stroke the woman's hair as tears fell freely form her eyes.

"Child, don't fear, I will not harm you or your family, well that is only if you agree to one thing," said Morgana, her eyes gleamed as she beheld the girl.

"Anything, please don't hurt them."

"You will serve under me."

"No, I can't," the girl said, trembling. "I c-can't do it. Th-this p-power is dangerous. I just can't."

"Now don't let society's prejudice cloud your mind. Sorcery is as evil as the ground your father tills."

"Tell that to the sorcerers who killed my brother," the girl spat, though her attempt at intimidation was ruined by her quivering voice.

"Casualties happen. From what I heard the boy was in the way."

"That boy was trying to protect me from being taken!" The girl all but screamed.

"The boy was nothing. He was of little importance to me unlike you and if you still want a family left I suggest you take my offer, or…" Morgana clenched her hand into a fist and directed her magic concentrated towards closing the airways of the farmer and his wife. They jerked awake and laid there gasping like fish out of the water as they struggled to draw in air.

"Okay! OKAY! I will do it. Please don't do this, _please!_ " The girl collapsed, sobbing as Morgana smirked and dropped her arm, releasing her spell from the farmer and his wife.

"Good, follow my every words else your parents will not be lucky next time they insult me and my kindness. Guards take the girl to her new quarters and her parents out of here," Morgana dismissed. The mother, still groggy in sleep, screamed for her daughter and the farmer clenched his fist as the pair stumbled from the throne room, the guards all but throwing them out. The girl screamed back from where she was held back by a guard and led away; Morgana simply smiled at the display as she sat upon the throne, her hand tapped against the side of the arm.

It was as the family was being pulled apart and led out separately that a pair of sorcerers strode into the room and knelt before Morgana. The witch recognize them as part of the force she had sent to destroy Ealdor days earlier and felt her irritation spike.

"Took you long enough. Where the hell is Tara?"

The sorcerers shared a look before one of them spoke up, "Tara was killed, milady"

" _Killed_?" Morgana said, her tone deadly.

"Yes, milady. When we have arrived at the village, we were quick in our attack, but Tara had split from the group and we later discovered her body in the surrounding forest. Someone had run her through with a sword, some knights, we believe, with the woman, Hunith. We found them in nearby cave systems and tracked them for days, but they slipped through our fingers."

Morgana gave them a cool glance before her eye turned gold and she gave a snap of her finger. From the corners of the room, hidden in the shadows, slunk a chimera, with lips curled back. Before either of the sorcerers realized the danger, the feline pounced one of them; its maws tore the man's throat apart. The sorcerer gasped blood gurgled from his mouth as his body slammed to the ground, under the full weight of the chimera, which continued to tear into the body. His partner kept his eyes down to the ground; he did his best to ignore the tearing of flesh and the disturbing gurgle next to him as his fellow sorcerer drowned in his own blood.

"I have no time for disappointments. Your friend and the guards who failed to keep a couple of miserable knights chained will serve as examples. Failure will not be tolerated, _am I understood_ ," Morgana threatened. The sorcerer mutely nodded.

"Good. Now clean up this mess." With that, Morgana left the throne room, leaving the sorcerer stricken as he glanced fearfully at the creature of magic that sill tore the body inches from him.

As Morgana walked through the halls of the castle, she could not help but sneer about her apprentice untimely end. It turned out the sorceress was not as talented as Morgana suspected, allowing herself to be caught off guard by a mortal blade. She would have to train a new apprentice of course, a better one who could do as told with precision and talent; but that could wait until later.

Instead, her mind concentrated on understanding how the knights were able to escape her dungeons. Morgana had reinforced those cells with enchantments that alerted her when there were unauthorized openings of the cells. None could escape without her knowledge and this caused unease to settle in Morgana; again, he witch thought of the possibilities of Emrys' involvement. Distantly she wondered of Merlin, still hanging in the dungeon, though the rope had been slackened enough so the sorcerer may stand on his feet soon after the man lost consciousness. No need to kill the idiot just yet, they still need information from him. The witch mused over the possibility that Emrys may attempt to free Merlin, if he was the reason for the previous escape. Aside from the knights escaping, the sorcerer had not made a move against Morgana since the months of her reign, and the witch grew edgier each passing day she could not find the man.

Morgana hated it. She felt no control over the situation as she waited for the figurative axe to fall. She could go after Arthur in Nemeth, the foolish kingdom that dared to house her brother, but for what, so that she could be thwarted around every corner by an over protective traitor? If she moved against Arthur, she could lose everything in Emrys' meddling. The game was a waiting one, and a single nudge in either direction could bring the situation crashing down on all of them. One wrong move, and Morgana would lose everything she had accomplished.

If Morgana was ever to ensure her place on the throne, Arthur had to be killed, but if she went against her brother, Morgana knew Emrys would move in to stop her. The warlock's biggest weapon was the air of mystery that surrounded him. Information was powerful, and without it Morgana knew the sorcerer was capable of catching her off guard. Her ignorance would be his weapon to throw her plans askew and return the throne to the tyrant.

_The one they call Emrys will walk in your shadow._

Damn the Cailleach. Morgana would find Emrys and kill him; the coward who laid in comfort in the safety of the shadows. The witch would hunt him down to distance lands if she must to destroy the traitor. She would have his blood on her hands as she tore him apart bit by bit for every pain he had caused her.

_He is your destiny._

Morgana knew the path she would take, that she was her right to take. The throne of Camelot was hers and the future of Albion hers to command. There was no destiny overruling her life; no prophesized warlock strong enough to smite her. She was a seer and if there was a future she knew, it was her own. With all she had seen in her visions, she had yet to see one that led to her death. She was the one in control and she will be the one to bring salvation to the children of magic. The Old Religion was her guide and Emrys could not deny her of her right.

_He is your doom._

Morgana was in control of her own destiny, her own path. Once Emrys was killed, Morgana would have proof that no amount of pretty words would determine her life. Nothing would force their will upon her, whether it is her next course of action or her beliefs. Nothing controlled her, not since she turned away from Uther.

Morgana would end this game soon. It was only a matter of time before someone talked, whether it was the pathetic servant or a captured druid. Morgana would kill Emrys and, once she had destroyed the tyrant's protector, she would have Arthur's head on a stake and put on display to serve as a warning to all who opposed her. Hell, she could have a little fun with killing her brother, especially when Nemeth and its pathetic King needed to be taught a lesson for believing, for daring, they could go against her.

~~~

"For someone who is supposedly the most powerful sorcerer, it's surprising how much of a coward he is in allowing his followers to suffer for him," Arthur said after the surprise of seeing Iseldir faded away.

The spite that laced his tone shocked Arthur. He hadn't realized the frustration and anger he held against the mysterious sorcerer until now when he was met with more victims of Morgana. Yet he found himself staring at Iseldir in defiance, his thoughts back on Merlin again. Though the servant had betrayed him, Arthur could not help but feel anger towards Emrys; no one deserved to suffer the treatment Merlin was getting, a treatment the King knew would be brutal.

"Emrys had sacrificed much for this land. The time has come for us to help him."

"Why protect one over the good of the many? How many more must suffer to keep one man hidden?"

"How many more will die in this war if the one man capable of facing the witch dies? Emrys is no coward; the situation he is in is precarious. One slip of the tongue, one admission, will lead to his death."

"We cannot afford to lose Emrys; without his help we will be lost," said the third druid.

"And you have come for our aid; we have been awaiting your arrival since my people were driven from our lands as well as Orian," Iseldir said with a gesture to the third druid.

"You know of the creatures that serve Morgana?" Elyan asked.

"Yes," said Cyric, "The chimeras are creatures of dark magic from the Spirit world, not unlike the manticore. For them to live long in our world, a portal is required that is created through a blood sacrifice from a willing man and woman; both must be magic in blood. When this gateway is created, it has three days until it must be anchored or destroyed."

"What do you mean by anchored?" asked Arthur, his eyebrows creased.

"The gateway created is unstable; it requires another enchantment from a powerful sorcerer to anchor it to the earth. Without anchoring, the gateway's energy would rip it apart. However, once anchored, the creatures can only go a certain distance from the gateway, depending on how powerful the sorcerer is. Seeing as the creatures still guard the entirety of the city and still venture outside the walls, Morgana is powerful enough to use them as defense against an attack. She most likely planted the anchor at the center of the castle, probably underground."

"If we find the object used for the gateway and destroy it, does that rid us of the chimeras?"

"Not immediately, but since their connection to the Spirit world was cut off, they will grow weaker and weaker the longer they are away. Eventually they will lack the strength to support their body."

"That's it then," Arthur gave a nod of his head, "we find the source and destroy it so the knights can rid the citadel of them."

"It is not quite as simple, Sire," murmured Iseldir. "The enchantment used to stabilize the portal is powerful and cannot be broken with a mortal weapon."

Arthur gave a groan in annoyance, "Of course, nothing with magic is simple. Is there any way to destroy it?"

Iseldir looked to Cyric, who nodded, before responding, "Yes. A counter-spell performed by one equally or more powerful to the one whom anchored the gateway."

"Morgana has grown in power since she learned of her magic," Orian said.

"I can only think of one who is capable and willing to perform the spell," agreed Cyric.

"Emrys," Iseldir said, meeting Arthur eyes "is the only one who can help you."

Arthur was silent before he asked, "Then how are we to fight Morgana when our one chance remains conveniently out of reach."

"You assume that Emrys is safely hidden somewhere," laughed Iseldir humorlessly.

"Then where was he during the last four months as my people were slaughtered," argued Arthur in disbelief and irritation.

"Being tortured for the very information keeping him alive," whispered Iseldir.

Arthur paused, abuse against the unknown sorcerer still upon his lips as silence fell among the occupants of the tent and everyone tried to process the druid's words. Arthur stood stock still, unable to believe what he just heard.

"Interesting how you expect the worst from a sorcerer," Cyric said, his eyes piercing Arthur. "That you would believe that Emrys chose to stand by and watch while Morgana tears Camelot apart."

"It is time some truths were revealed to you Arthur," said Iseldir, "more importantly the true identity of Emrys so you may realize the warlock is a friend, not your enemy."

"Who exactly is he?" Mithian spoke up, her eyes questioning the druids. Arthur and Elyan looked expectantly for the one answer they wondered about over the last months. Who was the man that was so sought after by Morgana and protected by so many?

"Emrys is the name our people gave him, one adopted from the prophecies told centuries ago; however, Emrys was not his given name," Orian said.

"He lives at the heart of Camelot, always watching, always waiting for all who dares harm the kingdom and her people; He is the silent protector of Camelot, putting mind and body into his task while expecting no gratitude in return," Cyric said, his gaze staring off as he became adsorbed in his thoughts.

"He has accomplished much since he first set foot in Camelot. He is known by many names and many titles," continued Iseldir, "to the druids he is Emrys; to you he goes by the name of Merlin."

Arthur felt his stomach drop. Merlin?

_Merlin_.

"He's not Emrys," Arthur found himself saying. "He's an idiot. A clumsy servant."

"He is more than the servant you know," Iseldir said.

"He is capable of far more than you can imagine," supplied Cyric, "Merlin, the warlock known as Emyrs, was capable of performing feats of magic that took years for sorcerers to achieve when he was merely a child; a child born with magic."

Arthur shook his head, still unable to accept the truth, "That's not possible. No one can be born with magic."

"You are wrong, Sire," Iseldir argued, though not unkindly. "People are born with the potential to draw magic from all around them, that is true. They can go through their entire life without learning or even knowing they can do magic. Then there is the select few, such as your sister, who are given no choice in the matter. Their power manifests as their body matures for their body seeks to draw the power in. Then there is Merlin. He doesn't have the potential to draw magic; instead he has direct access to the magic of the earth. Magic runs through his veins like blood, not because he drew it himself but because without it he cannot survive. The first time he used magic was when he was a mere babe."

"If he had magic since he was a child, why would he live in the heart of magic persecution? Is he that much of an idiot?" Arthur asked.

"Destiny nudges key figures down the path they are needed. Merlin's place was not as a farm boy of Ealdor, but as protector and guide to the Once and Future King," answered Iseldir.

"Bu-" started Arthur only to be interrupted by Orian.

"We do not have time for this! Every minute we spend arguing on this is one minute closer to losing everything. We are running out of time, Cyric!"

"Indeed," agreed Cyric, "King Arthur, it is imperative that we reach Emrys before Morgana kills him. Whether you like it or not, he is the reason Camelot still stands today and he is the key in defeating the chimeras. The other clans taking shelter here are peaceful but I lead one of the few druidic warrior clans, we will gladly help you retake Camelot if you if you promise us one thing."

"And what is that?" Arthur asked.

"Morgana has dragged out many sorcerers and forced them into her services. We ask you spare us and any sorcerer unwillingly dragged out. Many sorcerers wish no harm on Camelot, only wishing to live a peaceful, full life; don't blindly follow your father's laws and kill the innocents."

Arthur turned his gaze away for a moment and thought out the request. The druids would be an advantage to their cause, especially any versed in the art of battle. He needed their support, and though he did not want to agree to this proposition, not before Arthur settled down his own beliefs over magic, the King knew that they could not possibly defeat Morgana without the aid of magic.

With a sigh, Arthur extended his hand in agreement, still unsure, and Cyric grasped at the forearm and gave it a shake, sealing the deal.

"I will gather my warriors; we will be ready at first light tomorrow. Feel free to stay here and explore the camp," Cyric said, striding out of the tent.

Iseldir watched as Orian left as well before he addressed Arthur, "I will gather some healers from my own clan. Very few of my people are skilled in battle magic but they can make the difference between life and death when it comes to the injured."

Iseldir bowed then left, leaving the three to their thoughts. Before either Arthur or Elyan could speak, Mithian beckoned them to follow. The Princess guided the King and his knight out of the tent and soon the two sat by a campfire where a woman prepared a pot for supper while her daughter, who appeared to have seen eight or nine summers, chattered away as she handed her mother the ingredients. Mithian sat by the mother, picked up an unfinished basket from the ground, and began to weave it. While her mother stirred the pot, the little girl ran to Arthur, a big grin stretched across his face.

"Hello! I'm Aithne, what's your name?" the girl, Aithne, babbled excitedly, her hand rose in greeting.

Arthur gave a tentative smile, "I'm Arthur."

Throughout the exchange, the woman watched silently before calling out, "Aithne, come here dear."

"Mama, you going to show me how to make the flames dance now," Aithne ran to her mother and clasped the woman's skirt in excitement.

"Not today, honey. Maybe tomorrow."

"But Mama you said you would do it today!" whined Aithne, dropping down onto the ground with her arms folded and a pout on her face.

"Go ahead Kayla, you have nothing to fear," Mithian said, her hands worked deftly on the basket, but she flickered a glance towards Arthur and Elyan in warning.

Nodding, Kayla turned to her daughter who already got to her feet in excitement.

"Listen carefully, Aithne. The words are: **Bryne frícaþ** " said Kayla, saying the words of the spell slowly so that the girl could get each pronunciation correct. Though she faced the girl, her eyes were still on Arthur, watching his reaction as magic was about to be used before him. Elyan gave no indication that the magic bothered him, though he did give the woman a slight smile in reassurance while Arthur fidgeted in place, uncomfortable in the presence of magic.

" **Bryne frícaþ**?" Aithne asked. She enunciated each word with concentration.

Kayla nodded, "Now remember your lessons and draw the energies from around you when you incant, give it your full attention." Kayla removed the pot from the fire, nodding her head to the small fire to encourage the young girl.

Though not entirely comfortable that the child was about to perform magic before him, Arthur could not help but move closer, curious on what the strange words were meant to do. Beside him, Elyan also mimicked the King's movement, not wanting to miss the display.

The child stood over the fire; she straightened her spine and took a deep breath. With her eyes scrunched and small hands splayed above the fire, the girl incanted.

" **Bryne frícaþ!** " The girl opened her eyes which flared gold as the fire before her flew from the wood and floated in the air. With eyes still glowing, the girl twirled her wrists, feeling the magic rush through her fingertips as the fire formed into three flames weaved around each other in slow clumsy movements. Not even a minute passed before Aithne gave a gasp and the gold flickered away. The fire returned to the logs and the girl dropped her arms, panting slightly.

"Good, Aithne, but do not push yourself. You must recognize your limits as to not strain yourself," reprimanded Kayla. "Now go along and play with the other children."

With a quick hug, Aithne ran off shouting out to a group of children further away in excitement. Kayla returned the pot back upon the campfire and gave it a stir, a small smile of pride on her face.

"Why do you teach them something that can get them executed?" Elyan asked with genuine curiosity.

"Because it is our way of life, our tradition, to pass down our knowledge to our children and, in turn, for them to pass it to their own children."

"Magic has caused much pain, what good is it to your children," said Arthur bitterly.

"People cause pain, blame the wielder not the tool," Kayla retorted.

Arthur laughed, "I have seen the kindest people kill merciless because of its corruption. Magic can only bring pain."

"A blade can corrupt a man the same way magic can. Sorcerers have brought pain into your life much in the same way warriors and their blades brought pain into mine," Kayla said, "I was living in a clan closer to the border with my family years ago. I had a caring mother, a hard-working father, and an adoring younger sister when Uther's patrols discovered the camp. The clan was peaceful; the only man who knew any battle magic only knew the basics, not enough to defend the entire clan from two scores of knights. They came at night, swords held high, and slaughtered everyone in sight. Not even the children were safe.

I remember taking ahold of my sister's hand as we snuck out of the clan; we were small enough to remain hidden in the trees. All around I heard screams that served to urge me faster; it was all my sister could do to keep up. We were halfway through a clearing when my sister fell. I turned to help her up, get her back on her feet and running." Kayla's eyes glistened with tears, her voice stuttering as she continued, "There was a-an arrow through her th-throat; somewhere an archer was hidden in the trees. I remember my little sister's frightened face, her mouth opening and closing as she tried and failed to breath. I watched her for second, choking on blood, before I turned my back to her and ran."

Silent tears ran down her face as she met Arthur in the eye, "I tell myself now that I had no choice but to run, that my little sister would have died even if physician had tended to her immediately. But I still feel the guilt. Guilt for not being with my baby sister as she died. Guilt that I could not protect my dear, baby sister."

The mother turned her eyes away from Arthur to watch her young daughter laughing and playing with the other children, "Aithne had barely seen six summers when she died and I'm glad for every day my own Aithne survived longer. Tell me King Arthur, can you call what the knights did that night just? Can you consider magic evil when it barely scratched one of those sword-wielding brutes? To you weaponry is neither good nor evil, just a tool at the command of those who wields them. I see no different with magic."

Arthur looked down, unable to respond to the druid woman. Mithian placed her hand on Kayla's arm, giving her a small, comforting smile. Kayla returned the grin, though it was forced, then focused on finishing supper while she wiped away at her still bright eyes.

"Aithne seems young to be learning magic right now," Mithian wondered after a while.

"Aithne showed more power than usual for our children," Kayla answered, picking up a few ribbons of wood to join Mithian in weaving. "Druids are not usually taught magic until their thirteenth summer with a few exceptions. Aithne has shown exceptional talent and even latent abilities as a seer."

Mithian raised her eyebrows, "She can see into the future?"

"Not to the extent you are thinking. Aithne abilities as a seer is limited; she only gets a few visions a year"

"Morgana nightmares were from her abilities as a seer," stated Arthur, he leaned his arms on his knees and hands folded.

"Morgana is a powerful seer, and it did not help that she denied her magic for her entire life. Seers are given special attention as the vision often causes them stress. Aithne gets small vision here and there, most of it muddled, but she often seeks comfort after one," said Kayla.

Not much conversation was had the rest of the night. Though Mithian eventually got up and mingled with the druids, gave friendly greetings and asked on their wellbeing, Arthur and Elyan sat by the fire, observing the druids interact with one another. At first, they were cautious around the Camelot King, not wanting to do blatant use of magic in case they were to be dragged to the pyre fueled by the King's wrath, but they became less wary as Mithian urged them along to ignore Arthur. Soon the children ran around kicking a ball while using small magic to make the sport more challenging as the adults watched and did their chores. Some of the older druids did their work without magic for they enjoyed doing the tasks with their own hands, while others used magic to juggle between multiple chores. Never had Arthur seen a view of magic as this one, one that merely inspired a warm, homely feel so unlike the constant attacks of vengeful sorcerers.

Later that night, Arthur laid on his bedroll staring up at the stars. Next to him laid Elyan, absorbed in his own thoughts.

"Elyan,' Arthur called softly.

"Yes Sire?" came the reply.

"What is your opinion of sorcery?"

Elyan thought over the question for a moment, "I never had an opinion of magic."

"Even after your father died?"

"At the time I found out, yes, but I was angrier with my father. He put Gwen at risk, got himself killed and left Gwen on her own," sighed Elyan. "However, I missed him more than anything. It took me awhile to realize that all my hate towards my father and everything that led to his death stemmed from the fact I missed him."

"What about now? Of sorcery?"

"I guess… I pity them. This is not a life to live, not one in fear," Elyan said.

Neither of them spoke again leaving the cicadas to fill the vacuum. Arthur turned over on his side, shifting into a more comfortable position. However, no matter how comfortable he was, he could not sleep for his mind was a whirlwind of sorcery and knights.

Of traitorous sisters and loyal servants.

Of golden eyes and flashing blades.

Arthur was in a spiral of confusion, unable to discern what he truly wanted to believe. Was magic more than just evil? Was all that his father taught him a lie, a lie that cost hundreds of lives? And if he had decided to turn his back to all his father had taught him of magic, what would be the consequences? Camelot had decades of magical persecution, it would not be easy an easy transition for the people. Hell, Arthur himself was still not fond of sorcery. Every preconceived notion Arthur had on magic felt wrong.

How could they be so wrong on something like this?

Had they truly caused a massacre for naught?

Sleep consumed the King and, for the first time in Arthur's life, the knights were no longer the heroes of his dreams. Instead, they wore the faces of monsters over frightened druids, Aithne clenched closely to Kayla only to be wrenched away, screaming, and slaughtered. Men, women, and children killed indiscriminately and, observing it all, stood Arthur, with his father's blood soak hands on his shoulders as Uther stood behind him and watched in glee.

~~~

_Drip_

"You killed me."

_Drip_

"Why did you kill me?"

_Drip_

"I protected you."

_Drip_

"Loved you."

_Drip_

"And you couldn't even save me?"

Merlin clenched his eyes tight; tears silently made a path down his grime covered his face. The only thoughts running through his head was a reminder that that thing was not human, not even real. The thing was merely an image, a creation borne from the armlet that circled his biceps. He thought of the breathes that panted out, the ground beneath his feat, the metallic touch of manacles on his wrist, hell, even the pain the filled every inch of his body, but no amount of self-reassurance could comfort the warlock as ice cold lips brushed against his ear and whispered.

"Why have you forsaken me, Merlin? After years of nurturing, why have you left me to the wolves?"

Merlin gasped, his eyes wrenched open as fingers, like claws, dug into his cheek and forced Merlin to look at the figure before him. She was but a shadow of the mother Merlin had known. One of her eyes, rather than the warm brown there was a gaping hole; the eye had been gouged out. Blisters marred the rest of her face and skin peeled off to show the red of muscle on her left cheek. Her left arm, grasping Merlin's face, was charred, flesh torn at various parts where bone could be seen, gleaming; what was once her right arm was merely mangled hunk of meat. Blood dripped from the offensive limb and created a trail of blood whenever she moved.

"It hurt son, it hurt so much. She tore me apart. Burned me. Destroyed me," Hunith continued, voice hoarse as her damaged throat tried to form the words.

" _Please_ ," Merlin gasped.

"That's what I said and all I got was how you chose Camelot over me."

"I-I'm sorry."

"So am I, dear child, for raising such a thankless son"

Merlin began to hyperventilate, still begging.

"I raised a _monster_."

"STOP!" screamed Merlin. With a brief gust of wind, Hunith disappeared into a puff of smoke; in her place stood Morgana with her ever-present smirk as she twirled the armlet around her finger that had, moments before, rested around Merlin's bicep.

"Shall we continue this or will you give me what I want?" Morgana said.

"Never."

"Then continue it will be," Morgana said, clasping the armlet around the warlock's arm again.

Merlin felt a shiver run through his body again as a new person began to form in front of him. Her fuzzy outline grew sharper as her body finished forming. Instead of Hunith, however, it was a young woman with dark hair and tattered red dress. She was drenched in water and a wound stretched across her abdomen.

"Freya," Merlin said, his eyes widening as she approached him.

"You promised me," came Freya's tear filled voice, keeping within arm distance from the sorcerer.

"I swear I tried."

"Mountains, trees, and a lake."

"I wanted to run away."

"Instead I get a sword in the gut."

"I only tried to protect you."

"I was a monster; we would have been perfect together."

"No, please."

"But you tossed me aside for the man who killed me."

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," Merlin wept.

"I guess there are worse things than monsters."

Morgana watched as the man broke out into sobs, unable to deal with whatever illusions the armlet was presenting him. The witch had been hesitant to use this method. An armlet soaked in a potion made from a mandrake root could drive a man insane with illusions; illusions that were manifestation of every regret, every guilt, that a person had in their life. An insane man would not be able to speak, but Morgana had grown tired of Merlin's insolence.

The months had gone by, and Merlin stood strong against everything she threw at him. He begged, he cried, he _screamed_ , but he spilled none of his secrets. Now with Tara's failure fresh on her mind, Morgana was ready to make the servant suffer. The witch was done being patient to the warlock; she had provided him generous offers, gave only small cuts from the enchanted blade and even allowed slack to the rope that held him up.

Morgana was not without mercy after all.

But the warlock had tried her patience. Few druids could be found in the land and of the few she had captured she had pushed too hard and killed them. Sometimes she could not help herself. The druids had long ago left the lands, leaving Merlin as the only source left on information of Emrys. With thoughts of anger, Morgana soon found herself the armlet she never believed she would have an opportunity to use.

The witch smiled in glee as the warlock continued his pathetic begging, sobs wracking through his body. Whatever illusion the servant was seeing was clearly destroying the sorcerer mentally, his legs could barely hold him up. His cries turned into shrieks as he started yelling at whatever person he was seeing. After a while, Morgana stepped forward and removed the armlet, and returned it to the table. Merlin went limp, though he was still gasping for breath, trying to gain what little control over his body and emotions as he could. She allowed him a few minutes, enough that he was able to get back his feet.

The warlock tensed when he watched, through bleary eyes, as the witch picked up the enchanted dagger.

"I told you Merlin I will not go easy on you anymore. You missed your only opportunity to survive this," Morgana said, her voice took a light, almost friendly, tone. Dagger in hand, the witch slipped the blade through one of the many tears on the warlock's ragged tunic, slashing the fabric apart as she slid it up. Pulling the fabric apart, the warlock's pale, starved chest became exposed and the discolored skin and scabs could be seen scattered throughout his torso.

"Let's reward your loyalty, hmm?" Morgana teased as she placed the sharp edge of the knife against Merlin's chest. "Where is Emrys."

"No."

Morgana began to carve, relishing as Merlin's abused vocal chords forced out more screams.

The witch would get what she wants. She always got what she wants.

~~~

He couldn't take it anymore; not them, anything but them. They were his past, his failures. When he made a mistake, it was those closest to him that took the fall. He wanted to let go, to give up. Merlin was close, painfully close to telling Morgana everything she wanted to know on Emrys.

He wanted to die.

He didn't want to see this. First, it was Hunith, then Freya, and now Balinor stood before him, his face full of accusation. Merlin knew he was at fault for their deaths, everyone's death, he _knew_ , but he couldn't take the accusation. Wasn't it enough that he would always carry the guilt.

He needed to die.

"I left Hunith because of you."

_Merlin_.

"You were nothing more than a bastard."

_Merlin!_

"You brought misfortune to all those close to you."

_MERLIN!_

Merlin begged, whimpered. Too much, it was too much.

_Merlin, please…_

It was the last, desperate call that caught the servant's attention. Merlin knew that voice. It was the voice he associated to countless sleepless nights full of conversation. It was an ancient voice full of wisdom, one that he equally relied on and was infuriated by.

_K-Kilgharrah_ , Merlin responded, unsure if the dragon was truly there or just another illusion. His eyes was clenched tight, his breath ragged. That did not stop the ghostly figure of Balinor from talking.

"You even brought death to me."

_Yes young warlock_ , Kilgharrah said, relieved.

" _Help me, please. Please stop it, please_ ," Merlin begged, not realizing he had both spoken aloud and mentally to Kilgharrah.

"Monsters don't deserve pity."

_Young warlock, do not believes the falsities of these hallucinations_ , consoled the dragon, _they are not real nor are they a representation of the people they mimic._

" _I c-can't do this anymore._ "

_You must_

" _I ca-_ "

_You have no choice, young warlock, I'm sorry._

"So useless, so pathetic."

" _Help me please._ "

_I can't._

Merlin sobbed.

_Morgana is too heavily guarded, even for me. These creatures, these chimeras, there are too many for me to handle._

Merlin sobs grew harder.

_Please Merlin, concentrate, do you know where is Arthur?_

"Worthless."

Merlin was shaking, his legs barely held him up.

_Merlin_ , murmured Kilgharrah. Then, like a breath of fresh summer air, energy seemed to emanate from the voice. Kilgharrah was passing a part of his strength, as much as he could through their distant connection, to the warlock. _Merlin please._

It was enough, enough strength for Merlin to acknowledge Kilgharrah with an answer. It was quiet but, at last, Merlin answered.

_Nemeth, druids, Arthur._

_Thank you young warlock_ , Kilgharrah said, _hold on longer, I will return with help. Don't let the witch consume you for you are much stronger than she can ever hope to be._

_Thank you_ , Merlin thought tiredly. With that, Kilgharrah pulled from Merlin's mind, but not before the warlock felt the determination in which consumed the dragon.

"I guess you are more useless than the idiot I originally believed you to be."

Merlin felt his stomach drop. It seemed the armlet was not limited to the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for all the spelling/grammar mistakes I know are in this chapter. I edited this with little to no sleep and hadn't been able to go back and fix the mistakes.


	7. Chapter 7

The Great Dragon was once again flying high above the land and the occasional villages with people who were specks that scuttled across the ground. He was angled towards the kingdom of Nemeth, the only distinct location he had managed to extract from Merlin; Kilgharrah knew he had to for Arthur there and, if the Pendragon was not present, he would seek the druids for information. Those three words took much for Merlin to relay; it only revealed to Kilgharrah the importance in each, especially Nemeth. He hoped what little reassurances and promises he had made as well as his given strength would give Merlin enough to resist Morgana long enough for Kilgharrah to find either Arthur or the druids and bring the help the young warlock sorely needed.

When the dragon first arrived at Camelot, hovering above the citadel hidden in the shadows of the clouds, it shocked the ancient dragon to see the source of his Dragonlord's distress. Beneath him laid the city, one that he knew was often teeming with life, deserted, with the occasional person who rushed across the street to their destination. No one dared to stop, not even for a quick greeting to a fellow neighbor, as they kept their heads down and their eyes to their feet. Instead of the usual merchants and people lining the streets, there stood soldiers, tall and straight with cold eyes that watched the roads, and chimeras that growled and snapped at anyone who got to close.

Kilgharrah had felt irate at the discovery of chimeras. Vicious vermin that sole existence was to cause misfortune to those they were directed against. Though not impossible to kill, Kilgharrah knew they were still difficult to defeat, even for a dragon. Many dragons, before the Purge, had hated them and often chose to ignore or even attack one another if the two creatures of magic were within reach. A dragon's might was able to easily tear them apart while a chimeras' numbers could easily over run the dragons. However, it was not just the dragons that the chimeras sparked such ire; most that walked the land held hatred against them for the chimeras had no place among the world of the living. Many often frowned upon a summoning of those creatures.

Kilgharrah veered away from the city, choosing instead to circle the perimeter by the forest edge as he extended his mind out to search for Merlin. The dragon was glad he had decided to fly above the trees, away from the city, for the moment he made contact with Merlin, the force of the warlock's pain caused Kilgharrah to swerve off towards the ground barely managing to avoid the trees as his great body smashed into the ground. Thankfully there was a clearing close by for he had managed clip his wing against a tree but otherwise roughly land in the middle.

It was as the dragon was trying to grab the warlock's attention that Kilgharrah fully realized just how dire the situation was. Merlin did not have much time that was what Kilgharrah was certain; the dragon could feel the insanity and desperation that consumed the man. He could feel the mandrake-treated armlet's dark magic as it dug into Merlin's mind. The cruel device tore out the memories, the people, who made Merlin the man he was and twisted them to its advantage; the images of his loved ones were nothing more but puppets, used to lay the warlock's failures before him.

The mandrake armlet alone was enough to bring down even the strongest of men within hours of use, and even with Merlin's power, there was little his magic could do when restraints held it back. Kilgharrah knew his short conversation would not be enough to ground the warlock into reality from the armlet's twisted us of Merlin's memories but the dragon was at least able to provide aid, as little as it was, to the young warlock.

When the dragon had finally pulled away from Merlin's consciousness, the dragon was not given much time when a sizable group of eight men, a patrol, discovered the winged reptile. With the coordination born of countless hour training, the group had swiftly surrounded the dragon. They had all unsheathed their blades and held themselves at ready as they tried to determine their plan of attack. Before the dragon could take full note of them, two of the men lunged forward, the points of the swords scraped uselessly across Kilgharrah's hide.

Kilgharrah huffed. Humans were pitiful and these men had not the means to defeat him. With a great intake of air, Kilgharrah turned his head towards the two who had first attacked, his inferno cooked the men alive as the screamed in agony. The rest of the soldiers took a step back, uneasy on how to approach the dragon. With a quick whisper, they began to withdraw from the clearing with thoughts of reporting the dragon's existence to Morgana.

The Great Dragon narrowed his eyes; it would not do for Morgana to know of his proximity, though he doubt the witch would make much of a connection between him and Merlin. Kilgharrah lunged towards the patrol, with talons outstretched and fire bloomed from his maw. His claws snagged onto the closest soldier while the fire burned the rest. One man had managed to dodge the brunt of the flames only to be pinned against the ground by Kilgharrah's other claw. Golden eyes met the frightened browns before Kilgharrah released another short bout of flames, which effectively killed the remaining man.

He glanced around the clearing, ensuring he had killed the last of the patrol, before he leapt back into the darkening sky and once more flew towards Nemeth while his thoughts drifted towards the situation in Camelot.

Morgana was on the edge of achieving her goals, Kilgharrah had felt it; he had felt the temptations the warlock had for an ensured death that Morgana's revelations would provide. Never before had the warlock thought of death as an option for the warlock had proved time and again he was strong. Even Kilgharrah's own experience with his Dragonlord showed that he had stood strong with his ideal. It made the dragon wonder if Merlin's stubbornness was what kept his tongue still.

So immersed Kilgharrah was in his thoughts that he did not notice the arrival of his kin until she had rammed, full speed, against his side, knocking both of them momentary into free fall before either was able to straighten themselves, readjust their wings, catch the wind, and rise up once more into the sky. During the whole charade, and to Kilgharrah annoyance, a laugh burst from the scaled beast as they finally righted themselves.

"Hatchling, do you want to kill us both?" Kilgharrah scolded Aithusa, not having patience for the young dragon's usual mischief.

Aithusa merely rolled her eyes before giving the elder dragon a toothy grin, "Don't get your senile tail into a twist, if it was that easy to kill either of us, we might as well join a pack of slobbering wyverns."

Aithusa had grown much since the warlock first called her from her egg. Her once dull, soft scales, typical for newly hatched dragons, hardened and shone into brilliant, pure white as Aithusa matured; no longer was she the small, frail creature when she first crawled from the shell. Instead, she was the size of a large horse, after she had gone through several growth spurts that came rapidly in a dragon's life cycle. Though she had grown into the perfect image of a noble dragon that had been praised during the years before the Purge, it did not change the dragon's temperament and love for mischief, no matter how much Kilgharrah admonished the youth.

"This is no time for fun and games, young one. You should know as well as I how grave the situation is," lectured Kilgharrah.

"I know, but doesn't mean I can deny myself a laugh. If I can't have my fun and games, my hatred towards that witch will drive me mad!" exclaimed Aithusa in an attempt to remain cheerful, though it felt as forced to her as it was to Kilgharrah. The two flew side by side for a moment, with the wind going by, past their streamlined bodies, under the starry night.

"I can't lose him," Aithusa said, her voice lost. "We can't lose him. Without him, there is nothing but chaos in the future."

"Agreed, we can't allow the witch to continue. Her actions lead only to doom for everyone."

In a small, frightened voice, "How could anyone do this?"

Kilgharrah shot a glance towards his young kin and noted the confusion, sorrow, and, strangely, guilt present on the dragoness face. "Her darkness led her to her choices, twisted the way she was by her upbringing. It is of no surprise that she is capable of the cruelest of magic. Many forget how far a human can fall."'

Aithusa gave him a tired nod as she wondered over her early days, after she hatched, when she stood no taller than her Dragonlord's knees. Dragon hatchlings were capable of living on their own when necessary and it was often that Aithusa flew off, away from Kilgharrah disapproving and lecturing voice, on her own and explored her new world. It was simple to hide during those days, when a small flash of white could be glanced over by a human who believed that theirs eye were playing ticks with them rather than the baby dragoness. It was during those times that Aithusa encountered the witch.

She knew of the battle that took place in Camelot, where her beloved Dragonlord faced danger and fought beside the Once and Future King. Aithusa recalled how she had wanted to rush to Merlin's side, only to be stopped by Kilgharrah's order not to be involved. As dragons, they would only bring about panic amongst those they were trying to protect and the people may even attack them rather than the enemies; it was for those reasons that Aithusa minded her kin's wisdom… well, at first.

Anxiety clawed its way in her gut and became too much for the hatchling. Aithusa found herself flying off to the city, prepared to wet her claws in battle and release the fire within her belly; however, by the time she had arrived, the battle had been on the path of victory, Camelot's warriors were chasing the remainder of their foes away. Aithusa flew around the city; her white coloring gave her the perfect disguise against the clouds. Satisfied that she had worried for naught, Aithusa veered away and skimmed over the forest, simply enjoying the act of flight. It was while she glided through and dodged the trees when she noticed a dark figure lay stretched across the forest floor, unconscious.

The only human she had ever seen up close was her own Dragonlord, and though Aithusa had little experience with the strange, two-legged creatures, she knew that the one below was in trouble, perhaps a victim to the battle that had occurred within the city. With a tilt of her wings, Aithusa directed herself to the forest and landed beside the human. Closer, Aithusa saw that it was a woman, pale in the face framed by tangled, long raven hair; she was clad in the strange second skin that humans were fond of wearing. Aithusa tilted her head to the side and wondered over the source of the woman's current condition when her nostrils caught the fresh scent of blood that wafted from a wound hidden within the folds of black cloth. It took Aithusa a half a second to realize that the woman was dying, her hand crushed between her side and the ground in a desperate attempt to stem the blood that leaked from her body.

Aithusa bowed her head and gave a small whine; her heart lurched at the lack of acknowledgement from the human. Then, with a single-minded determination, Aithusa felt her magic, the source of her flight and internal furnace, rise up for her, ready to be molded to her wishes. The magic built up and, instinctually, Aithusa gave it form, purpose, before its gentle warmth released from between her maw, carried by her breath, across the dark woman. The magic drifted above the human and settled into her, its power melded into the woman's being. Aithusa felt as her magic knitted the muscle and skin together, and returned the woman's flesh to health.

Fatigue hit Aithusa at the completion of her released the magic for it was the first time she attempted to use her magic outside its unconscious use. But it was okay, thought Aithusa for she believed that it was a small sacrifice to make to save a life. Besides, she was not too tired to make the journey back to the caves that became home for the hatchling and Kilgharrah when he had not been tired of her. With that in mind and the sense of pride for her good deed, Aithusa flew away, her mouth formed into draconic smile. Below her, the woman roused into consciousness, surprise and wonder dominated her face as she watched the dragoness' flight.

She was young that time, but Aithusa never understood Kilgharrah's remarks on her naivety. Dragons, much like many others, were shaped by their experience and choices throughout their lives; however, dragons also possessed a unique connection to the earth's magic, and in turn a shared inheritance of knowledge. Aithusa was born with full understanding of the current state of the land, the sad truth of the near extinction of the dragon race, and even the prophecies and those that destiny chose to carry out her wishes, the Once and Future King and Emrys, the warlock who Aithusa easily recognized as her Dragonlord. She was even born with the knowledge of the prophesized enemies of Albion.

Perhaps it was from Aithusa's confidence that she would be able to recognize any figure of prophecy that she had allowed herself to be carefree with her magic. She didn't realize that the seemingly innocent woman in the forest she had heal was the one who threatened everything the dragons strove to accomplish, threatened her Dragonlord and the world he was destined to create. It was all Aithusa could do not to hide in shame before Kilgharrah. She feared her kin. She fear of his reaction, of his disappointment, if he had found out she had saved the witch. Saved the witch so that Morgana may once again destroy the dreams the magical community held for the future.

It wasn't until she had been struck by the desperate call of her hatcher and the subsequent hurried flight to Camelot, that she had fully realized the consequences of her actions. She had arrived above the city before Kilgharrah, the sun still shown through the horizon and forced the dragoness to swoop into the clouds' shadows to hide as her sharp eyes searched the city below. Aithusa tried to extend her mind the way Kilgharrah had taught her before, but she was too far from Merlin for her inexperienced magic could handle. As she glided around, unsure on her next action, Aithusa felt her magic react, a reaction instigated by her proximity to two opposing forces.

With no control, Aithusa felt her magic release, and her vision burned and changed. Though she could feel her body, still maintained itself in the air and her senses attuned to the sky, her sight had provided her with a flash of images. The dragoness immediately recognized what she was viewing. It was prophetic visions, ones dragons were often seeing that gave them the vague knowledge of destiny wishes. In it Aithusa saw the great figures, good or bad, of prophecy, from the proud blond-haired man clad in metal to her own Dragonlord, his eyes glowing gold and his body emanated warmth and light. Many more images were seen, though only flashes, from the Queen to the knights.

Aithusa began to see figures shrouded in darkness, their heart laid bare before her mind eyes; she saw the dark-haired young boy with intelligence beyond his young eyes turn into a young man, whose eyes burned in hatred and anger. Aithusa saw a woman sheathed in a red dress, her black hair fell around her shoulders and blood covered her hands as she held a blond babe. She stood, with betrayal and hatred, before a pyre, an effigy to the executions that took place since her deal with the King of Camelot. The image of a blonde woman followed, her dark influences leaked from her, tainting all those who stood too close, too trusting.

Then, to Aithusa surprise and shock, appeared the woman from the forest. Her beautiful face twisted in insanity, so unlike that vulnerability the dragoness had seen in the forest. The woman, whose hand was covered in her own blood on the forest floor, was drenched from head to toes in blood. Even with dark clothes, Aithusa could tell that the woman bathed, with glee, in the blood of the innocents; blood that Aithusa recognized was from her victims. For the first time, Aithusa felt cold pit in her stomach, one so cold it felt as if her furnace was nothing but a candle.

The woman had been the witch, the one by the name of Morgana. She was the one who caused all the pain; she was the one responsible for her hatcher's frightening call.

Aithusa felt horrified.

How could she have possibly helped such monster? How could the innocent woman she had saw when she was younger be so cruel? Kilgharrah was right; it was surprising how cruel anyone could be. The revelation served only to shake Aithusa to her very core. Flying beside her older kin, Aithusa wanted only to find the loneliest cave to hide in and wallow in her shame, in her guilt. The dragoness was almost tempted to confess to Kilgharrah so that she received the punishment she deserved. Yet as the time passed, Aithusa could only say,

"Kilgharrah, what can we do?"

"I managed to contact Merlin. He did not give me much, only three words: Nemeth, druids, and Arthur. My only guess would be that we could find either the druids or Arthur at Nemeth. I hope we can find the young King, he will be necessary of freeing Camelot. With Nemeth being a valued ally to Camelot, I would not be surprised if he was there."

Aithusa snorted, "How are you even going to check if the King is there? Just fly in the middle of the city?"

Kilgharrah gave her his own toothy grin, "Well that would be one way to get the King's attention, though I doubt it will be appreciated."

From over the sound of the wind rushing past, Kilgharrah almost didn't hear the sardonic comment from Aithusa.

"So it's okay for you to have fun, hypocritical, senile piece of dragon dung."

Kilgharrah rolled his eyes, "And what a proud dragon you turned out to be."

~~~

Morning found Arthur, Mithian, and Elyan preparing to travel back to Nemeth. All around them the druids scurried about, busy with bidding goodbye to loved ones and ensuring that they had everything needed for their travels and the upcoming battle. Arthur soon found himself sitting around the fire with Elyan, Mithian, and Kayla again as they waited for the druids' departure when the young Aithne emerged from the tent behind Kayla, pale-faced and rubbing her eyes. The girl collapsed straight into her mother's lap and soft whines garbled from her direction as she pressed her face into her mother's chest. The King could only assume the girl had a nightmare as Kayla brought her daughter closer and began to whisper reassurances into her daughter's ears.

Aithne shivered but soon she calmed and peeked around from her mother's arms. Her eyes landed on Arthur and the King shifted uncomfortably as the girl intense stare seemed to see into his very core. Then she turned to Kayla and whispered quickly to her. The woman's eyebrows rose in response and after a moment of internal debate, Kayla nodded to her daughter. With that, Aithne extracted herself from her mother and made her way towards Arthur, her eyes radiated determination.

Arthur gave her a questioning look when Aithne's small hand grabbed onto Arthur's sleeves. She tugged at him, beckoning him closer; Arthur, confused, relented to her unspoken request, curious in what the girl wanted.

With the King's full attention, Aithne spoke, "Be wary, my King, of the trials that lie ahead." The girl's voice adopted a tone far more matured than children her age adopted. Her bright, clear eyes served to only disturb Arthur more for he no longer saw the carefree child from the day before.

"What do you mean?" Arthur asked, glancing for a moment at Kayla who stared intently at her daughter.

"The power that you seek is your hope; in it is Albion's salvation. However, it is not to be taken lightly. It is like a double-edged sword, when not treated with care, it can cause more harm than you can ever imagine. Beware, my Lord, that when the time comes, when all is beyond control, only one thing can calm the storm."

"What storm?" Arthur asked, confusion marred his voice over what he heard.

Aithne shook her head and her eyes began to tear up, "I-I don't know." Her voice was back to that of a child and, with a shake of her head, Aithne ran off, away from the campfire.

Kayla stood from her seat and casted a look towards Arthur, "Heed her words, Sire. As I said before, Aithne has few visions, and for one to have resonated this strongly in her dreams only shows its importance." With that said, Kayla left in search of her daughter for the mother knew how much vision scared the young druid.

Arthur glanced at Elyan and Mithian, only to see confusion reflected back at him for they knew as much about what Aithne had said as he. Though Arthur had seen Morgana's sleepless nights, she was always more direct with her warnings her nightmares had prompted her to say. Arthur knew better than to disregard the words as just mindless prattle spoken from a frighten child, but he did not know what those words meant.

Arthur continued to ponder over the girl's words when they finally left the druid camp, traveling with the druid warriors and healers back to the city. Arthur thought of the power and wondered if it was in reference to his manservant, for Merlin was revealed to the King to be Emrys. Such revelation was hard for Arthur to accept for it was already difficult for him to believe that his servant was a sorcerer, but the most powerful one of the land?

No. It was too much to believe.

How much had his servant done since coming to Camelot? How much of Arthur's own accomplishments could he count as his own and how much was truly his friend's doing? Arthur had already been wondering what his friend had done with his magic since his service in the royal household, but it was always with the belief that it had only been small spells; spells that would not take much from sorcerer. If Arthur had a guess on when the servant began practicing magic, he would say it was when Merlin first set foot in Camelot and placed under Court Physician's care. Gaius had been a practitioner of magic and though the man denied he still meddled in sorcery, it was the only time Arthur could figure out Merlin had access to it, unless there was another sorcerer hidden in Ealdor. The King even started to believe that the servant may had learned magic in Camelot's defense.

But to had been born with it?

The feeling betrayal returned, stronger than before as Arthur thought of the secrets and the lies Merlin kept about him for years in service. Merlin was the only one Arthur trusted with his own shortcomings, his own indecisions. He had spoken of feelings to Merlin that he never told other before. Yet the man failed to tell him of the power he possessed, choosing the play the idiot manservant of the King.

As much as he wanted to be angry, Arthur could not deny that it was humbling, in a way, that this mighty Emrys, who seemed to command the respect of the magic community, had mucked out his stables. The image Arthur's mind had painted of Emrys clashed against the view he had on his servant; he could not consolidate the two, Emrys and Merlin, as being one and the same. Merlin was not the all-powerful warlock who held command over the elements at his fingertips but rather the bumbling, idiot servant whose clumsy disposition was well known throughout Camelot.

Was the fool merely a mask the servant donned in public, taken off only in the shadows as he disposed of his enemies. Was the Merlin he had known a lie? Arthur remembered the few moments he had received sage advice from the servant; was that his mask slipping? Was that Merlin's way of showing Arthur his true self?

Arthur dreaded the day he and Merlin met face to face.

There were too many secrets, too many situations, for Arthur to pretend the meeting would be anything but painful. He was scared of what he would find in Camelot, of what remained of his friend. He feared that when he next met Merlin, if the man survived, that with all his secrets laid bare, the servant would no longer be the same. He would no longer be the best friend Arthur had gotten to know over the years. Instead, in his place, would be the powerful, wise Emrys meant to guide and teach Arthur to his destiny, to become worthy of the title of the Once and Future King. He would lose the one person who viewed Arthur, not of a man of royalty, but as his equal.

Would that change now that they each knew their true stance in the world's hierarchy? Would his friend look down at him as a one who lacked the power to match the man who was the human incarnation of magic?

Oh how he wished that he never learned Merlin's secrets. All he wanted was to go back to those years of banter and friendship, when they were nothing more than King Arthur and Merlin the manservant. When Arthur believed there were no secrets between them.

Ignorance was bliss indeed.

Arthur's thoughts were still on Merlin when they arrived at the city, with the sun at its highest. After a quick discussion, the druids decided to camp outside the city's walls for the city was already at its limits between the citizens and the refugees from Camelot; the group settled within the fields on the opposite side from which many of the men had been trained for combat. Cyric nodded to Iseldir before he turned to help organize the camp.

Leaving the druids to settle, Arthur, along with Mithian, Elyan, and Iseldir, entered the city and headed towards the citadel. Within moments of entering the castle a servant, red faced and sweating, ran to the King of Camelot.

"Sire! King Rodor sends for you in the Court Physician's chambers immediately!" The servant panted, dropping into a low bow.

"Why, what's going on?" Arthur asked.

"Two men, knights, and a woman arrived minutes before and is being tended to by Helena and Gaius," responded the boy.

Arthur nodded at the servant in thanks and then found himself hurrying towards the direction of the chambers, the rest of the group following behind. With a burst, Arthur rushed into the chambers, staring in shock at three faces he did not expect to see. Sitting at the patient's table sat Gwaine, shirtless, as Helena dabbed at a shallow wound that stretched across the knight's side Beside the worktable was Percival who allowed Gaius to examine what appeared to be a burn that covered his left shoulder. The giant winced as the physician pressed a poultice into the mark but sighed at the relief it brought to his skin. Sitting in a chair by the fire, Gwen sat with Hunith, wrapping a treated gash on the woman's forearm.

"King Arthur," greeted King Rodor from where he stood by the entrance, "I am glad you returned, with good new I hope."

Arthur nodded, "They have agreed to aid us in our endeavors. They have set up a camp outside the city with about fifty warriors and ten healers willing to help our cause."

"Good," said Rodor, "These men are your knights I presumed?"

Arthur nodded when Gwaine noticed Arthur's presence in the room just as Helena finished wrapping the injury. The knight shrugged his tunic back on before he addressed his King.

"Glad you joined the party, Princess," laughed Gwaine, though the mirth did not quite reach his eyes. "Must be nice relaxing here while we played the loveliest games in Camelot."

"How did you escape? I thought Morgana had the city thoroughly guarded," Arthur asked.

"She does, but then again she wasn't expecting our… particular way of escaping," Gwaine admitted, meeting Percival's eyes.

"Wha-"Arthur started only to be interrupted by warning bells.

No.

Not now.

They weren't ready for Morgana, not when they needed more time. They finally got enough men, with the new recruits and King Lot's added support, and a solution against Morgana's magic and chimeras. For an attack to occur now, when they were so close to their goal, would be a fate most cruel.

Arthur met Rodor's eyes before he all but ran from the chambers, heart pounding. Rodor followed at Arthur's heels shouting orders for everyone to remain in the room. Once they confirmed it was Morgana, Rodor wanted to be able to return to those chambers and to organize an evacuation. They would continue the fight, even if Morgana captured most of them, as long as someone remained to defy her.

Arthur knew that he must focus on the current situation. He must think of the best way to save as many people as possible, but another fear bubbled into his mind. There were only two thoughts on Arthur's mind, each tried to dominate one another as they spun around in his head.

Did Morgan finally make a move against them?

Does this mean Merlin is dead?

Arthur could only hope neither was true, but his hopes dissipated, as he got closer and closer to the battlements, where he would find the best view, the screams and panic got louder and louder. With a grim expression, Rodor followed along outside to peer over the walls to the distant edges of the city.

What?

Arthur could not understand what he was seeing. Below him, people ran for cover or hid in their homes, but from a danger neither Kings could spot. Arthur expected to see a scene of fire and blood that had painted Camelot below him. Instead, the walls looked to be intact and the streets lacked an army. Even the buildings appeared to be intact. The only people Arthur could make out in the distance, past the walls, was the druid camp, still busy pitching their tents. In contrast to the city, the druids were calm as they went about their chores. Befuddled, Arthur could not figure out what was the cause for the panic that unfolded throughout the city.

That was when the King of Camelot, from the corners of his eyes, saw Rodor's upturned face. The King of Nemeth gawked up at the sky, hiding none of his surprise and horror.

Arthur looked up.

Then he froze.

For hovering above them, as big as Arthur remembered, was the massive form of the supposedly dead, golden dragon.


	8. Chapter 8

Both Kings stood still, neither sure on how to handle the situation as the dragon flapped his great wings above them. King Rodor, after a moment of indecision, started to bellow out orders and directed the nearest men to take up a defensive position. The dragon watched in a mixture of amusement and indignation then he opened his maw and released a jet of fire above the battlements, not close to cause any danger to the people but enough so that the intense heat was still felt. Rodor was rendered speechless mid orders while the flames forced him and Arthur to instinctively duck out of the way.

"I did not come looking for a fight, King Rodor of Nemeth and King Arthur of Camelot," the dragon spoke, its ancient voice rumbled above them. Arthur's eyes widen, surprised to hear intelligence rather than the roar of a dumb beast he believed the dragon to be.

"Dragons talk?" Arthur exclaimed in confusion. It was a second after Arthur shook his head to dismiss the question in favor for a more pressing matter. "Wait, you're the Great Dragon that attacked us years ago! I killed you!"

"It appears, young Pendragon, you are sorely mistaken," the beast said, golden eyes narrowed and irritation inflected his tone, "and I do not have time for this. You are to go north into the forest where you will find a clearing. Bring whoever you believe to be necessary for I wish to discuss over matters concerning the witch. This is not a request, Pendragon, so do not try my patience." With that, the dragon veered away towards the forest, its form grew further away until he stopped and dove into the trees. Still standing on the battlements, Arthur found himself unable to move, no quite understanding what had occurred before them.

"Why the hell is the Great bloody Dragon here?" Arthur all but shouted.

"I don't know." Rodor responded. "How did you defeat the dragon last time?"

"Surrounded it in a clearing and I gave him a fatal wound. Most of my knights were killed in that attack and that was days after the beast had laid siege to the city," Arthur said.

"Did you see the dragon die?"

"No, I was knocked out when I landed the blow but Merlin…" Arthur began to answer before he trailed off; it was then that something seemed to click into place and Arthur was struck by realization. When he had defeated the dragon, Arthur remembered feeling exhilaration, relief that he had struck down the monster that terrorized his city for days. He remembered when he flopped to the ground, his body stretched as though he was embracing the night sky above him while he wore the biggest grin across his face. Merlin stood above him, with his own signature smile and the news of their victory.

Merlin had told him that the Great Dragon died. It was but another lie to the King and one that Arthur would never had guessed possible. Of everything he heard of his servant, none of it showed that the man had caused harm to Camelot. No matter how much Arthur felt betrayed from the servant, he was never led to believe Merlin's actions were anything but for the good of the kingdom.

To realize that he had not rid the land of the beast that killed dozens of people did more than irk him. Arthur trusted Merlin, trusted that he spoke the truth of the dragon's defeat and death. Yet with recent revelations of Merlin's magic with the added newfound knowledge of the dragon's survival, Arthur felt his blood begin to boil in anger. There was few who could reveal some light on the dragon's continuing existence, and since Merlin was indisposed, that only left one person for Arthur to question.

"I need to speak with Gaius," Arthur said.

Rodor nodded, "Then I will attend to the people. I can't allow their fear to push them to do foolish things, not with the threat of Morgana looming over all of us. The last thing we need is a riot marching off with pitchforks and torches against the dragon."

Arthur turned off and made his way back to physician's chambers. Though he took a pace much slower than when he left, it felt like seconds to Arthur when he arrived back to the room.

"Tell me Gaius, why is there a dragon still flying around?" thundered Arthur after he had slammed the door open and rushed into the chambers. Anger clouded his mind as he targeted the one man that, from Arthur's perspective, held all the answers.

Gaius, still by the worktable, raised his eyebrows, "I presume that's the source of the warning bells."

"Do not change the subject, Gaius. I've been patient on you and that sorcerer's secrets, but I will have answers on why the hell the Great Dragon is still alive," snarled Arthur, his control on his emotions slipping further.

" _Merlin_ keeps many secrets and for good reason," Gaius snapped back, though his anger fell flat when his tone betrayed the exhaustion the past months had given him.

"Then pray tell me, Gaius, what use is a dragon, which destroyed half my kingdom, to us alive?"

"His name is Kilgharrah and he has provided us with advice and wisdom unparalleled in the past against Camelot's enemies. You will do well to appreciate his service for without his advice Camelot would have been destroyed many times over."

"I have a hard time believing that that fire-breathing creature has good intentions, what's there to stop him from burning us all into ashes?"

"Because out of respect and duty to his Dragonlord, Kilgharrah will not harm anyone."

"What Dragonlord?" shouted Arthur, "Balinor was the last, and when he died so did the Dragonlord legacy. There is nothing left to stop this dragon."

"A Dragonlord's power is different from other branches of magic. They do not gain their ability through study but rather a Dragonlord, at the moment of death, pass down their gifts to their son. The ability to call a dragon as kin is an inheritance."

"Even if that is true, Balinor never sired a son."

"He did," a small voice interrupted.

Arthur stopped and looked around the room for the source of the voice; it was then he remembered the others in the room. While Arthur had gone to check why the warning bells rang, Gwaine and Percival had moved to stand by the door at ready with hands loosely placed on the hilt of their swords in case of an attack. They had reacted immediately, with each drawing their swords half out of the scabbards, when Arthur first charged into the room, concerned that an enemy was soon to follow. Helena had pulled out bandages and herbs, mentally calculating what would be needed in case a battle broke out while Gaius had started grinding some herbs at the worktable; the pestle and mortar laid forgotten on the worktable when Arthur began his verbal attack. Still by the fire was Gwen, face pale but resolute in meeting the oncoming fray. In front of the Queen sat Hunith whose hand clenched tightly into her tattered skirts and whose timid voice had drawn Arthur's attention. The King met Hunith's eyes, surrounded in wrinkles lined but determined to speak what was on her mind.

"King Uther had sought Balinor's help years ago," Hunith continued, "He offered peace between Camelot and the Great Dragon, including those named as kin. He claimed to want to make amends with Kilgharrah and repent for the slaughter he led against dragonkind.

"However, Uther's words, under the guise of good intentions, were a trick to capture and chain the Great Dragon in the caves below the castle. When he had what he wanted, Uther ordered his men to turn on Balinor and kill him for the evils of his gift. With his plans completed, Uther had what he wanted, the last dragon, the Great Dragon, imprisoned as an example to all that he would win against magic.

"When Balinor sought protection from Gaius, Gaius turned to me with a request: help keep the man safe, outside of Uther's lands. Gaius had done much for Ealdor in the past when sickness had claimed many, so I agreed and gave Balinor sanctuary," Hunith said, her eyes distant now and a small smile growing on her lips. "Balinor was a kind man but he was full of sorrow and anger; Uther had taken everything from him. He tried to set aside his emotions and worked to help me in return for sanctuary. Those first weeks, I pitied the man for his suffering but soon my pity turned to love as I discovered his kind heart. As my love bloomed for him, so too had his love for me. We were happy, together, for a short while.

"One day, about a month after he escaped Camelot, we received word from Gaius. A traveler, who had passed through Ealdor and recognized Balinor, reported to Uther in exchange for the bounty. Balinor was furious but I calmed him and reasoned that we had time, time to get away and leave. I knew that Uther would tear apart the village until the Dragonlord was found so I planned to leave with him, run far away and hide. I even packed all of my belongings, ready to leave my small home but… he was gone the next morning."

Hunith stared down at her hands as they fiddled with loose threads on the muck-covered apron. "He left to protect me, to keep me from a life of running and danger and he left me with nothing to remind me of the time we spent together. At least that's what I thought."

Hunith began to smile again, though tears welled up in her eyes. "He left me with a son, Merlin. My child was born into a world without a father. I suppose that if he had known, Balinor would have been more inclined to leave. His son, my Merlin, was in danger just for being sired by a Dragonlord. Then again, Merlin, under the laws of Camelot, should have been executed at the moment of birth; for the magic he was born with."

Hunith stood and walked before Arthur, who had been shocked and unable to breathe a word throughout Hunith's confession. Standing in front of him, Hunith placed her hand against his cheek and continued, "The Great Purge had brought upon the land so much pain and suffering but it had led me the Balinor. Through him I gained no only love but a son; my greatest achievement. I regret denying Merlin his right to know of his heritage but glad he had gotten to meet his father, as short as it was."

"I-I'm sorry," Arthur said, his voice choked up by emotions as he once again met with the consequences of his father's laws. In his mind's eye, Arthur saw Balinor, the man full of bitterness and reduced to the life in a cave. He thought of the man's initial refusal only to return later with admittance that he was wrong for allowing his animosity against Uther blind him from what was right. Then he was gone, dead in the arms of Merlin.

_No man is worth your tears._

Gods, had he really said that? Had he told his best friend that his father was not worth his tears? The same man who comforted Arthur when his own father had passed? The man had watched his father die and Arthur's only comfort was to not cry for his loss.

Arthur felt his anger dissipate and remorse set in. Remorse that he had wronged Merlin in one of the cruelest of ways and which led him to wonder in what other ways had he wronged the servant. The King knew how little worth his words of apology were to Hunith for his actions. His apologies should be directed to Merlin and even then, words would do little to make amends. Arthur had entered with anger over a situation he did not fully understand.

"Do not apologize for a mistake made in ignorance," Hunith admonished, though not unkindly, "I am proud of my boy and I will wait impatiently until the day I can hold my son safely in my arms."

~~~

They led their horses into the forest to the north of the city. Arthur felt nervousness claw its way through his gut as they got closer and closer to meeting the dragon. After Hunith's outburst, Helena led the woman out of the physician chambers to rest for she was still weary from her escape from Ealdor. In her absence, Arthur gave his orders to move out immediately, worried about what would happen If they refused the dragon's command.

Now in the midst of his trusted knights, his Queen, and Camelot's Court Physician, along with Princess Mithian as representative of Nemeth and Iseldir for the druids, Arthur felt they were just handing themselves over as the beast's next meal. Those nights cowering in fear from the dragon's attack was too engraved into Arthurs mind to view the fire-breathing flying lizard as anything but peaceful. This had made him hesitant to allow Guinevere, Gaius, and Mithian to join, but they needed Gaius' familiarity with the dragon and the women refused to be left behind with Gwen claiming it was her duty as Queen and Mithian for her duty as representative for Nemeth and her father.

The leaves rustled above them as Gwaine urged his horse away from his fellow knights to trot alongside Arthur, shaking the King out of his morbid thoughts of feasting dragons.

"I have something to say and you damn well better keep your mouth shut while I say it."

"Is that anyway to speak to your King, Sir Gwaine," Arthur replied sarcastically.

"Not to a King, but a King I don't see, eh Princess?" Gwaine joked flashing a grin to Arthur.

"Get on with it," Arthur sighed.

"Alright then, whatever decision you make when we get back to Camelot-"

"If," Arthur muttered darkly.

"I want you to know I've made mine," Gwaine continued, glaring at Arthur for the interruption. "When it comes to Merlin, I will protect him from everything."

Arthur rubbed his face, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want to make sure we have an understanding. Whatever her royal Highness decides, I'll keep him safe. Whether it is to welcome him back to Camelot, join him in banishment, or, hell, commit treason against the crown to keep his head firmly on his shoulders. I will keep him safe," Gwaine said, still holding his smile though his eyes held no cheer.

"What do you expect me to do then? Under law, Merlin is to be executed without hesitation. He committed treason and according to common belief and my father's own ruling, Merlin is not as innocent as you claim him to be," Arthur said, though not quite believing his own words. He already started to change his beliefs and though he was not entirely accepting of Merlin yet, Arthur knew he could not execute the man. That did not change the laws or the fear that he and his people still held against magic.

"You would not question his loyalty before, but suddenly the moment he has magic, you're ready to toss him aside? Keep talking, Princess, you very close to losing what little respect I have for you," Gwaine warned.

"What will you have me do then? I am the King of Camelot and I am obligated to watch over my people. Many, including myself, fear magic; it has caused nothing but pain to us all and you expect me to embrace it with open arms? Then you claim that I want to simply toss aside my trust for Merlin but the man has proven to be nothing but dishonest. How can I trust Merlin as I had before when he has been lying to me for years?"

"I am no stranger to giving up all that I have for a vagabond life nor am I opposed to doing so again. I have lived for years on my own whims and when Merlin showed up, he was the first man I've met that saw a person for who they are and not what title they bore. I would rather follow a man such as that, risk the 'threat', than a Princess who cannot see past the blind hate his own father instilled into him," snarled Gwaine.

Arthur shook his head and responded, irritation coloring his tone as he began to lose his impatiens, "I do not have the choice in this matter. I want to trust Merlin, I want to believe that he is as loyal as I always believed him to be, but the man lied to me for years. I cannot turn a blind eye to that betrayal."

"Enough," intervened Leon before Gwaine could protest any more, giving the two stern looks before he continued, "save your anger for Morgana, that last thing we need is to be at each other throats."

"Just so you know, _Sire_ ," spat Gwaine, "the last I saw of Merlin, he was weaken to the point that even standing was difficult, yet he used every last ounce of strength to spit in Morganas face. Even with the threat against Ealdor, he stood firm. Tell me again why I should follow a King who would turn his back on one so loyal?"

Gwaine pulled his horse away besides Elyan, glaring at Arthur as he brooded. Leon stared back, eyebrows raised until Gwaine turned his face away towards the path ahead, his face set in irritation.

"Is it wrong to follow in my father's footsteps, Leon? Was my father wrong in his reign?" Arthur asked.

Leon sighed, "Uther was a just King. He cared greatly for his people, even if he had to make unpopular decisions; he did what he could to protect people with the best intentions. Sometimes the best intentions are not what are best for all."

"I was told the kingdom was a mess when sorcery had free reign throughout the land. Every sorcerer I've met killed and brutalized the innocents. How can I allow something like that in my kingdom?"

Leon took a moment to rearrange the reigns in his hands before replying, "I served your father for many years and seen firsthand the many evils of magic. Honestly, when you first told me of Merlin's magic, I was hesitant to believe it. Merlin would be the last person I would believe to be evil. That man does not have a single evil bone in his body.

"Even now, when I find myself more hesitant towards him for allowing the dragon to fly free across the land; I still remember the nights of the Great Dragon's attack and the people whose lives he stole. That more than anything would lead me to distrust Merlin, yet the dragon never returned. We would never have known of his existence if it weren't for him contacting us. Not only that, but Merlin had far too many opportunity since first coming to Camelot to remove you are your father from the throne. If I needed someone to convince me that magic could be good, then I should view Merlin as such."

"So what should I do? Make him the exception to the law? I don't even want to think of what the people would do if I allow a sorcerer among them."

"You do not have to decide now, Sire, but look at the situation this way: the druids are peaceful magic users as well and you have promised them peace before this mess started. What's to say you cannot extend the same peace to Merlin or other magic users that were wronged by Camelot's laws?"

Arthur was about to reply when they suddenly broke from the trees and enter a rather sizable clearing. Across from the group, laid stretched across the ground, was the Great Dragon, his wings folded neatly on his back as his great chest rose and fell. His eyes were closed as he rested his head upon the ground, his fore legs pillowed him from the ground.

To the side was a spring with clear, clean water; it wasn't the spring, however that caught the group's attention, but rather the presence of a second dragon that stood in the water. The beast was the size of a wyvern, with pure white scales that gleamed in the sunlight. It splashed about in the water, breathing flares of fire across the surface and snorting into the steam that rose. A few gave a soft laugh in amusement as they witness that dragon amuse itself.

"A-another dragon?" Arthur said, his voice slightly raised, "Since when has there been another dragon?"

"Beautiful," whispered Mithian as she beheld the young dragon. It was the first time that Mithian had set her eyes upon a dragon and though she understood the terrors that dragons could bring, she could not help but admire the purity of the dragon's coloring.

"Beautiful? I see no beauty but another monster that would murder without remorse," grumbled Arthur.

"Only the ones who annoy me," the dragon spoke, her lilting tone teased.

"Aithusa, how many times must I tell you? Now is not the time for games," grumbled Kilgharrah, who opened his eyes and observed the group that had joined them.

Aithusa rolled her eyes, "You got to go to the city and freak them out, hypocrite."

"It is about time you arrived, young Pendragon," Kilgharrah said, ignoring Aithusa who huffed in annoyance, "I feared I would have had to rip through the castle and drag you out myself"

"Because that makes us feel much better," mumbled Gwaine to Percival.

"There is much to discuss and not much time to do so," Kilgharrah picked himself off the ground, shaking out and resettling his wings. "It is time that we rid ourselves of the witch. Seeing as there is a druid among you, it is safe to assume you are already on the right path."

"We seek a way to destroy the chimeras, the druids have offered a solution," Arthur agreed.

"Chimeras are an issue, but Morgana would prove to be a greater challenge. How do you expect to defeat her once you rid the kingdom of the chimers?"

"With the druid warriors, we have a chance"

Kilgharrah laughed, "The druids are but ants before her. It would not be difficult for her and her sorcerers to destroy the druid warriors, even once the chimeras have been destroyed."

"So you expect us to rely on Merlin to solve our problems," Arthur said, irritated.

"What bothers you the most, Pendragon? That you are relying on a sorcerer to save the kingdom or that you are imposing upon a friend to suffer even more for said kingdom?"

"I do not believe a man who had suffered through torture four months would be in good enough condition to help us."

"You are correct," Aithusa spoke up, her previous jovial tone took on darker tones. She had gotten out of the spring and stood beside Kilgharrah to face the group. "Merlin has suffered greatly without our knowing. It is our duty to our Dragonlord that we help him. That is why we have searched for you, Arthur, to offer assistance. We hope to save Merlin."

"And should we trust your offer to help us? Even though the last time we saw your king you tried to bring the walls down around us?" Arthur asked.

Kilgharrah laughed, "Because slaughtering all of my kin, dragons and Dragonlords alike, and then chaining me in the caves beneath the castle for twenty years was nothing."

"Kilgharrah, why have you come?" Gaius asked, sending a stern look and raised eyebrow towards Arthur, silently telling him to shut up. "You give me reasons to believe that you had not known what was going until now. What brought your attention to us?"

"Our kin cries," whimpered Aithusa.

"Your kin?" Gwen asked dread filling her. "Merlin?"

"The other day we felt the call of the Dragonlord in the form of a powerful burst of magic," Kilgharrah said, shaking his head, "I never felt such raw power"

"From what I can gather, everything that is connected to Merlin's magic was contained since his capture, else he would have found a way out long ago," Gaius said, "there is no way he could possibly call out without his magic free to use."

"Not true," Percival spoke up for the first time.

"He unlocked our bonds and cell. He even knocked out the guards who watched us," Gawain elaborated. "Since we escaped, we had wondered why he had not set himself free as well. We figured there was something else going on that prevented him from freely using his magic."

"Emrys' magic is unique," Iseldir answered. "The common sorcerers you're familiar with have the capability to tap into the natural magic from the earth core and draw it out. This ability is what they cultivate through years of study so they may one day be able to pull a part of the power and direct it through incantations. From what I gathered from Emrys' gift, the magic is a part of his very being. The power is driven by instincts and flows as freely as blood in his veins."

"The druid is correct," Kilgharrah rumbled. "The restraints would keep him from directing his magic but would not prevent the magic from flowing into him."

"Which is why we must ask Emrys for help with the chimeras; physically, he would be incapable of fighting, but magically his power would prove more than enough to take care of the anchor. What Morgana does not understand is that by binding it, she had not fully cut Merlin from his magic. If anything, without release, the magic is probably building up within him," continued Iseldir.

"This is why we are here. We guessed that his call was his magic reacting to his emotions," Aithusa said. "That is the reason we have come to assist you in reclaiming Camelot. We have heard the insanity of my hatcher and wish to save him from such a fate."

"Morgana had pushed the young warlock too far; far enough that his rising emotions trigger a magical outburst. What we felt in his call was that he stands on the edge of insanity, forced there by physical and psychological torture. His own magic is rebelling against him, too much for his physical body to hold for so long. I doubt he would last much longer," Kilgharrah said. The Great Dragon stared down at Arthur, surprising the King that the dragon's eyes were full of sorrow.

"So what must our plan of attack be? Our soldiers and the addition King Lot's army can handle Morgana's soldiers, and the druid warriors her sorcerers, but we have to find our way to not only get Merlin from Morgana's clutches but also have him destroy the anchor and Morgana?" Mithian questioned. "Weaken and close to insanity, it'll already be hard for him to function much less win a battle against a powerful witch."

"On our own we cannot kill Morgana but we do not necessarily need to destroy the witch, only to chase her away," mused Iseldir. "There is a way to do so, for destroying the anchor and ridding the witch, which will not require Emrys to be at full health."

"And what is that?" inquired Arthur.

"If Emrys allows it, there is a draught that would allow a sorcerer to direct magic another has already obtained. Usually this brew allows two sorcerers to perform enchantments that are more powerful that what they are normally capable. When a sorcerer drinks this potion, he may draw up magic and direct the power to the one who brewed the draught. This allows the brewer to take the power and combine it with magic he had already gathered, thus giving him more power than he could draw out himself."

"I have heard of this draught," Gaius said, "and also that it is dangerous. There is a chance the power can turn on the sorcerer since typically he would not have the experience in controlling that amount of magic."

"I know of the risks and requirements put into its preparation and us. If I must, I will willingly take the risks," said Iseldir. "I am loyal to Emrys and I will do all I can to protect the future of Albion."

"Druid, the power you will be trying to control can overtake you. None but Emrys had ever commanded that level of magic. Chances are it will tear your mind to shreds," warned Kilgharrah. "Are you ready to gamble your life and all of Albion on this venture?"

"Even with my mind in shreds, I will hold onto that magic and use it until Camelot's enemy has been defeated."

"Then what should our plan of attack be then," Elyan asked.

"It will have to be two-front attack," contemplated Leon, "the army will attack the city from one end, take care of the soldiers and sorcerers while another, smaller group can sneak into the citadel. While most of the attention is on the army, the other group can take out the anchor and catch Morgana by surprise."

"Aithusa and I can help the attack as well," said Kilgharrah. "We can help hold off the army and manage the chimeras until the anchor is destroyed."

"Who will be infiltration?" Percival asked.

"I will along with Iseldir for the draught-" began Arthur before Gwaine interrupted.

"I'm going as well. Like hell am I going to stand back and let Princess go in without me after what that witch did to Merlin," Gwaine said, staring defiantly at Arthur.

"Then shall we head back? It is about time we stop waiting around," said Mithian. "It is about time we go on the offensive."


	9. Chapter 9

"Welcome to Nemeth, King Lot," greeted King Rodor as the foreign King, clad in the finest armor and sword strapped to his belt, dismounted from his horse. Behind astride their own horses sat the finest knights of Essetir, each one garbed in the colors of the royal households along with chainmail and weapons. They were only a small portion of the men the King had brought with him; the rest had gone to set camp in the fields, a distance away from where the druids stayed. They had been wary of the druids' presence but otherwise paid them no mind. It was with a stroke of good luck that the dragons had recently left their own roost among the druidic camps to go hunting.

King Lot was a broad shouldered, rough looking man. He was tall in stature and had dark, brown eyes that shone with more intelligence than the average man. His eyes also held a steel edge, one that promised retaliation to any who dared crossed him; with his reputation, none could deny that the King was capable of such vengeance. His auburn hair was kept cropped short while a neat, trimmed beard that framed his mouth. Behind him, a meek servant garbed in grubby clothing marred by the effects of travel stood, tending to the King's horse while Lot returned the greeting with one of his own.

"It is good to be here, though the same cannot be said for current circumstances," responded Lot, giving a quick glance to Arthur who stood off to the side, attempting not to fidget as nervousness consumed him. They had finally received support from another kingdom, to Arthur's relief, and, unlike Nemeth, one that led a strong army. Though not nearly as strong as the time before the previous King, Cenred used his men for an immortal army; the added soldiers had given them new hope for victory. Those men would serve to nearly double the army Arthur had worked to build in the past months; an army that though had grown in strength was still a far cry from being able to take on Morgana.

The city seemed to get more and more crowded, especially as the day of the attack grew closer and closer. They had left soon after their meeting with dragons, giving the two a promise that once they had a detailed plan set out, the beasts would be informed on their roles. Though they agreed upon the basics of a two-front attack that Leon had suggested, the group knew they must wait until they had the opinions of Rodor and Lot to create a more concrete plan.

Rodor agreed to the addition of dragons, but Arthur worried over the thoughts and opinions of King Lot. Arthur had not interacted with the newly appointed monarch for Camelot had kept her distance from leaders of Essetir after Cenred previous invasions. It was not uncommon for Cenred to look towards magical means to strengthen his position in Albion; however, that did not tell Arthur much on Lot's own stance on sorcery. From what Arthur gathered about neighboring kingdoms, most adopted similar anti-magic campaigns since Uther started the Purge. Camelot was largely influential, due mostly to its position in the hierarchy of kingdoms. If there was a kingdom that could be deemed strong, it was definitely Camelot.

As they waited, they planned. The dragons settled among the druids who did not fear their presence, but that did not prevent the first day of panic that settled among the populace. It took well-place words and charisma for Rodor to placate the people. The people remained cautious but otherwise accepted the fearsome creatures. By the time Lot arrived, three days later, and after much discussion, they had all agreed upon a plan of action. Now they only needed the foreign King's approval; Arthur only hoped the man was open-minded to sorcery.

With the army of Essetir stationed outside the city, the area felt crowded. The fields to the south held garrisons of men, who had begun to set up tents, forming a tight-knit camp to accommodate the men on such a small plot of land. While to the west were where the druids settled down, keeping themselves separate from the general populace so as to not panic those who feared magic. Within the city, the walls sheltered not only the people of Nemeth but also the refugees of Camelot and thus placed a strain on the resources. With this in mind, Arthur knew the city and surrounding area could only support the influx of people for at most a week, and that was being optimistic; they would have to move out soon.

All their plans and chances laid solely on King Lot's decision; they cannot afford to lose his support nor those of the magical persuasion. If Lot decided he could not accept sorcery into his ranks, they would have to make do without the King of Essetir help. Arthur found himself, with some guilt, wishing his father had not pursued such an anti-magic campaign. The more he saw of magic, the more Arthur lost his grip on the ideals his father had taught him since birth.

Every corner he turned, every sorcerer he met, pointed to him how wrong the laws on magic were. The peaceful druids were hunted down while the dragons were slaughtered to near extinction along with the last of them kept chained for years. Families were torn and innocents killed. Arthur could not stop his growing horror as he thought of the true consequences the Purge had brought, never mind the consequences they were paying with Morgana's recent invasion.

As when Arthur thought of magic, his mind turned to Merlin. The servant turned sorcerer turned most powerful warlock who struggled to survive in his service to Camelot. Arthur thought of the day the dragons appeared outside the city and the distant view of Gaius comforting Hunith when the woman sought information on her son. Even Gaius' physician mask seemed to crumble more every time Arthur saw him. During the days, the knights kept them busy planning and consulting, each focused on the issue at hand. Arthur could not even find the time to question either Gwaine or Percival on the events of Camelot, of Ealdor, or on Merlin during these hectic days, though Arthur itched to do so. It was through silent acceptance that Camelot came first and foremost; they had to be ready for the coming battle, else they led their people to a slaughter.

Arthur found himself in the council room with King Rodor and King Lot, still consumed in his own thoughts before he heard King Lot.

"King Arthur," addressed Lot, his eyes measuring the younger man, "I must apologize for not extending aid previously. I di not want to commit my people into a losing battle."

Arthur shook his head, "I do not blame you. I myself would have been hesitant to risk my own people."

Lot laughed, "Yes, yes, though that does not matter seeing as the witch decided to attack first. I cannot fathom why Morgana would target such a small village, but I cannot stand aside and allow such injustices to my people. Nor can I allow the best opportunity to rid her from Albion to fail."

King Arthur nodded, "We already have a plan of attack."

"I wish to hear it then."

Arthur exchanged a glance to Rodor before taking a deep breath and continued, "We plan to attack the city from the east at sunrise, use the light to blind them and give use an advantage while also prepare under the cover of darkness. My knights would lead the attack and handle Morgana's soldiers. We have requested…" Arthur paused, still hesitant, "druids' assistance against the sorcerers and creatures known as chimeras."

"Druids?" Lot questioned his tone neutral.

"Yes," Arthur said, "I have recognized we will be unable to handle Morgana without their aid. We also accepted an offer from two dragons. With them, they can reduce he casualties against the chimeras."

"Dragons," Lot said, his eyes widening in shock.

It was a moment in nervous silence for Arthur, unsure on the thoughts of his fellow King. Fear once again tried to consume him as he worried that the King would reject their plan, forcing them to pick between two crucial allies for the upcoming battle. It was at Lot's booming laugh that Arthur was torn from his frantic thoughts.

"Well," Lot gasped out, mirth still on his face, "isn't that a surprise, the son of the notorious Uther Pendragon is relying on sorcery to save Camelot!"

"You do not oppose of it?" Arthur asked, keeping the relief form his tone.

"I have no opinion on sorcery. Unless it directly involves me, I do not care for its existence and if it is what it takes to take down of Morgana, who am I to say no to it?"

Arthur, amazed on another King who did not have strong support of anti-magic laws, continued, "I am glad to hear that for our plan has another part. Unfortunately, the chimeras can only be destroyed by an enchantment targeted at an anchor within the citadel of Camelot. The only one strong enough to do so is held prisoner within Camelot, therefore I'm personally leading a small group from the west during the attack and sneaking into the citadel through an entrance that leads through the burial vaults. There we will destroy the anchor. With the anchor destroyed, the chimeras will be weakened and easy to kill."

Lot stroked his beard with his thumb and fore finger in thought, musing over what he had just heard before he spoke up, "Are you sure that these… chimeras… can be defeated, that this sorcerer will be able to handle them after being imprisoned?"

"The druids know of a draught that will allow another sorcerer to help direct the enchantment and break the anchor. Once we free the sorcerer, we are confident the anchor will not be an issue, and in extension the chimeras."

"How, if I may inquire, did you get the assistance of not just one but two dragons? Last I've heard the last dragon was killed by you when it escaped and attack your kingdom."

"The existence of the second dragon remains unknown to me but the other was the same one who attacked. It appears several were fooled, I included, of the dragon's death, though his help makes me less inclined to punish the one responsible."

"And of the chances they turn against us?" Lot asked his piercing, brown eyes on Arthur searched for lies.

"Slim, they wish to aid a friend trapped in Camelot, the one who helped them."

"And the attack, how will we go about it?"

"Well as I said before the attack will occur from the east at sunrise. We will divide our men into three separate groups, each station to attack from the northeast, east, and southeast directions, with druids evenly disperse amongst them. The druids will focus their enchantments on the enemy sorcerers while being responsible in healing the injured. They have also agreed to protect our men from the other sorcerers as well as the chimeras with the dragons support."

"Is there any way, aside from destroying the anchor, to kill the chimeras? I do not want to lead my men to hold off an enemy they can't defeat for an extended amount of time."

"These creatures are not unbeatable but nor are they easy to kill. The combination of druids and dragons, as I said, will focus on the chimeras, along with the sorcerers, to divert the bulk of magical attacks from the main army."

"Fair enough," the King nodded. "My soldiers are ready for war. Now I must ask, how may this help my own kingdom?"

"Aside from ridding the land of the witch?" King Rodor asked, raising his eyebrows.

"She attacked a small farming village, which is nothing compared to the rest of my kingdom," Lot replied, matching Rodor's incredulous look with an unyielding one. "I decided to help as to not waste an opportunity in stopping Morgana, especially when not much can. Even so, it was only one small village; there can be many other reasons for her attack and. I highly doubt that it was one to take over the kingdom."

"Our kingdoms have never been on friendly terms," Arthur replied. "Cenred had often attempted to usurp the throne of Camelot under the command of Morgause. Let us take the opportunity now to bring peace between our lands, our people. Once Morgana is gone we can discuss and draw up an official peace treaty to unify our kingdoms in an alliance. Perhaps new trade agreements are in order?"

Lot mulled over the offer, balancing the pros and cons between participating in the battle and accepting an alliance. Arthur watched his fellow King decide; he kept his face composed and waited in respect but felt almost sick with apprehension as he waited for Lot's final decision. This moment could decide the Camelot's fate. Lot's army was sizable enough to give that extra kick that was desperately needed, the one that ensured their chances were not just wishful thinking. Everything settled on Lot's response; they could lose it all in a single refusal.

"Well King Rodor, King Arthur," Lot addressed the two monarchs, giving them a reassured smile and extended his hand to Arthur, "let us hope that we survive the coming days long enough to see this peace."

"In that, we are agreed," said Arthur, mentally giving a sigh in relief as he grasped firmly onto Lot's forearm and gave it a shake in agreement.

~~~

The rest of the meeting between the monarchs focused on detailed logistics of the upcoming battle. With the soldiers divided into three groups, it was accepted that each kingdom would be responsible for each force, with Arthur's men led the center force while Rodor and Lot the flanking groups. The druids would be scattered among the men and already Lot sent a message to his soldiers to allow druids to begin enchanting weapons and armor while also familiarizing each other's battle strategies. It was also decided that the dragons would be given free rein in how they participated, with some hesitance on all sides.

The final issue was the presence of Arthur's knights and soldiers who remained in Camelot intermingled amongst the Blood Guard and the late King Alined's army. Arthur hoped that Morgana kept those who were still loyal to him away from the main battle, afraid that they would take the opportunity to turn against her and help the invading force back into Camelot. Arthur knew he must prepare for the possibility that they would be forced into battle against his own men. With grim agreement, they decided they must take out anyone who attacked but would give any a chance to back out of the fight. Hopefully, Arthur thought, the men will be either kept from battle or turn against Morgana.

As for Arthur, there was not much to discuss on who was going to infiltrate the castle. Arthur, along with Iseldir, to help with the anchor and Morgana, and Gwaine, who refused to be left behind when going to retrieve Merlin, would be sneaking in through the vaults, with Iseldir breaking away one of the grates that blocked entrance into the tunnels. Once inside, the three would swiftly find Merlin, break him out, and then give him the draught to take down the anchor and Morgana while she was still unprepared. They hoped the group would not be met with problems, but Arthur knew that the optimism did not necessarily mean they would succeed.

The meeting ended around midday, with an agreement to move out the next day, and spend the rest of the day packing supplies and preparing weapons. When they arrived at Camelot, They would make camp in the Darkling Woods and set up an infirmary under the cover of night in preparation for the influx of the injured that war always promised. Before the sun begins to rise, Arthur would lead his group while the rest of the men would march upon the city and wait for the signal to attack. Even at night and every precaution, Arthur knew Morgana would notice the army. It was with this understanding that Arthur needed to take her attention away from those sneaking into the castle.

Now Arthur found himself stood at the edge of the Physician's chambers, by the doors, watching Gaius and Helena direct a mob of women and children; they sorted and packed herbs, bandages, and equipment to treat any kind of battle related injuries. By the table, Hunith busied herself organizing and counting each herbs, occasionally announcing to the physicians what was needed and what they had enough of so that they, in turn, instructed their helpers what was needed and what they no longer needed to look for. Guinevere, who was in charge of checking the bandages, stepped away from the table and approached Arthur. With gentleness, which Arthur could only associate to his wife, Gwen grabbed ahold of one of Arthur's crossed arms and pulled him to her. Once standing by her side, the Queen led her husband out, away from the noise, down the hall until the two found themselves isolated in a quiet alcove.

Together they stood in each other's embrace, happy to get just a few moments for themselves. With their life a constant struggle recently, Arthur was all too glad to feel the warm body pressed against him and the feel of his hands burrowed into her hair, slowly caressing the back of his head until she gently tugged him closer and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips. The Queen then laid her head against her husband's chest with her arm curled behind his back and held on tight.

After a while, Gwen murmured, "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Arthur agreed, tightening his arms around her waist and pulled her closer.

"I'm coming with you."

"You can't," Arthur shook his head.

"Why not? I'm just as capable with a sword as all the others," Gwen scoffed, her voice slightly muffled as she pressed her face even more tightly against him.

"Because you are the Queen," Arthur said, but not unkindly, as he rested his chin on top of her head. "If something were to happen to me, the kingdom still needs someone on the throne. I trusts no other but you in this regard."

Gwen sighed, "I refuse to be left behind to wonder which one of my family and friends I should begin to mourn. Allow me to at least accompany you and remain in the camp during the battle. I can at least treat of the wounded."

"Only if you promise you will stay out of the fight."

"Fine," Gwen agreed, glad that Arthur saw some semblance of reason though she had hoped to not end up on the sidelines. They stood longer together, taking comfort in each other's presence as their breathing kept rhythm and they continued to hold on tightly.

Guinevere began to shake and, pulling back, Arthur noticed his wife sobbing against his chest, her tears soaked into his tunic.

"Guinevere?"

"How can you stand it?" Gwen asked with a tremble.

"Stand what?"

"Knowing what's going on in Camelot," Gwen pulled back, her teary eyes met Arthur's blues.

Arthur brushed aside a loose curl from Gwen's face before he responded, "By remembering it is my duty as King to save the kingdom."

"And Merlin? You hear what the dragons said. I-I tried to be strong," Gwen's voice trembled, "for everyone, b-but I can't keep it from my mind."

"Merlin is strong, Guinevere," Arthur reassured, though he too had held fear for his manservant.

"He is indeed," Gwen whispered. The Queen leaned into her husband again and forced her body to relax. It was no time to lose one's emotions, there was time for that later.

"Guinevere?" Arthur murmured.

Gwen hummed.

"Whatever happens tomorrow, I-" Arthur began only to be shushed by a slender, calloused finger. Gwen had pulled back from Arthur, one of her arm still rested on his back while her other, whose finger remained on the King's lips, began to caress his cheek.

Giving a small, sad smile, Gwen said, "I know, Arthur, I know." With that, Gwen leaned in and planted her lips firmly on Arthur's. As the King deepened the kiss, he could not rid his mind of a single thought.

That this may be the last moments alone he had with his wife.

~~~

They stood in the room.

Phantoms of his failures.

The armlet had done more damage than Merlin feared as these ethereal figures haunted him without the aid of the bracelet. Their outlines were blurred and shapes indistinct as they glided around the room and whispered, with painfully familiar voices, their disappointments. Luckily, these hallucinations were not as potent as those brought on by the armlet's presence were.

Truly, there was much to be thankful.

_I gave my life for this?_ Began the whisperings of a long dead knight echoed through the cell, mocking the warlock's poor attempt at cheer. _How tragic for me._

This time, before it could go further, the voice was interrupted by the familiar clank of the lock reverberated throughout the room. The sound was altogether too familiar for the warlock; he felt his muscles tense with anticipation. With helpless resignation, Merlin geared his mind for the coming punishment while behind him echoed a sinister laugh, a laugh that contained excitement for the coming torment. Merlin gave a shudder, more focused in the cacophony of voices rather than the strange silence that preceded the opening of the door.

Typically, Morgana would not hesitate and waste time; she was quick to pick out her favorite tool as she boasted about her recent plans or scorned Merlin. The strange calm that settled in the dank prison, one accompanied by the dripping of water, the scurrying of rats, and murmuring voices, was always interrupted when Morgana entered. Never had Morgana entered the dungeons in silence.

It was only when Merlin turned his eyes towards the door that he was met with an unexpected sight.

Rather than the craze-eyed woman with wild hair and questionable sanity, there was a young girl instead who stood stock still, unsure on what to do with herself. She looked to be no more than fifteen summers and wore a simple tunic, trousers, and boots, clothing similar if not identical to the clothing worn by Morgana's sorcerers. She had fair hair, cut short, and bright, hazel eyes. Slung across her shoulders was a small pack, from which the greenery of herb could be seen peeking out from beneath one of its flaps.

Merlin watched with fascination as the girl, still nervous and perhaps a bit scared, collected herself, adjusted the straps on her shoulder, and strode further into the room. Her wide eyes were careful to remain on the warlock's face. Behind her, wisps began to converge into a solid form as it floated along following the girl.

"M-milady t-told me to make sure y-you stay a-alive," the girl stuttered, her attempt at a fearless façade shattered. The girl gave a gasp when her eyes finally travelled down the servant's body and took in the damage. "I-I will try m-my best, b-b-but I don't have much experience"

Merlin watched as the girl carefully set her bag on the ground and began to rummage through, her hand trembled as she pulled out a multitude of herbs. Once she had all her supplies laid out before her, her face blanked and she stared hard at the mess before her, as if she could decipher its secrets if she could only focus more. The blurry image of his childhood friend drifted closer to the girl, his face set in a sneer. The warlock tried to ignore his presence but felt a slight shiver when it spoke.

_What kind of idiot girl wants to help a monster?_

The warlock tried to block out the illusion, instead choosing this new presence as the source of his distraction. Gently, so as to not to startle the girl, Merlin asked, "What's your name?" The warlock inwardly winced at the hoarse tone his voice had adopted and the soreness that accompanied his attempt at speech. He could speak no louder than a whisper.

"I'm A-Alison," the girl, Alison, answered, shock heard whether for the question or his rough voice, Merlin could not tell.

Merlin gave a small smile, "Mines Merlin."

_Isn't it monster?_ the peasant man asked.

_Or coward?_ the knight supplied from behind the warlock.

Alison returned the smile, though it was tentative, before she stared glumly down at the herbs before her, "I was sent to make sure you l-lived, but I didn't w-want to use it so I thought…"

"It?"

"Magic," Alison shuddered.

Merlin felt gloom consume him as he stared at yet another victim of the Purge.

"Magic is nothing to be afraid of," Merlin supplied, as gently as he could. He tried to keep his face composed to not scare the girl, but it was proving to be difficult as the illusion behind began to breathe down his neck; its breath seemed to chill his very core.

"Magic creates monsters," Alison argued, tears began to leak from her eyes and her hands, not sure what to do, twitched between different herbs, unsure on which could best treat the injured.

"No," Merlin whispered, "people become monsters. Magic just makes them scarier."

_You are the most horrifying of all monsters._

After a moment, Alison gave up on the herbs and instead chose to approach the strung up man, her hands, still twitchy, hovered over the various wound that scattered the servant's bare chest. Her eyes widen as she took in the extent of the damage, from the discolored skin of his shoulders, which was still at an unnatural angle, to his carved torso covered in blood and pus, mostly from the weeping wound that stretched from just below the collarbone to the lower abdomen. There stood a dragon, with wings spread in pride and face twisted in a snarl. The dragon held a likeness to those that the knights bore in their service to the royal household of Camelot. It was a cruel parody of the Pendragon crest; one that mocked the servant's determination to stay true to the King it represented.

While Alison stood before him, frantic and scared on what she was doing, Merlin focused on the feel of solid ground beneath his feet and the pain that radiated from every inch of his body. During times when the hallucinations were at their most vicious, Merlin found this as a way of grounding him to reality ease the intensity of the illusions. Their presence was not at their worse but he did not want to unsettled the girl more than she already was; the last thing he needed was to break down in front of her. More laughs echoed through the dungeons at Merlin's attempt, but they faded and the figure that followed the child began to lose its shape until it was a silvery tendril that wavered in the air. They would not be gone for long, but it allowed Merlin to turn his attention solely on the girl.

Unknowing of the struggle that took place in front of her, Alison's hands flew to and fro between the wounds while her teeth bit into her bottom lip. She was at lost at what to do, knowing that if she didn't decide soon she would be in trouble. As she continued to stand there, Merlin watched and came upon a realization as he observed the strange, nervous girl.

"Morgana didn't really send you, did she?" Merlin asked, a mixture of amusement and exasperation swirled behind his tired eyes.

The girl froze and her hands wrapped themselves at the edges of her tunic while her shoulders hunched over and tears welled into her eyes, "I-I was s-sent-"

"I know Morgana, and she wouldn't miss an opportunity to prod at me," Merlin gently interrupted.

The tears broke through and silently made its way down the girls cheeks as she stood dejectedly with her hands tightened around the fabric and head bowed.

"No, she did not," the girl mumbled with an undertone of fear. A breath later before she lifted her head, wide brown eyes meeting blue, and spoke up again, frantic, "Please don't say anything. I promise to help you as much as I can if you keep my visit a secret!"

Merlin gave a soft laugh, "If Morgana as capable of getting information from me that easily, then I wouldn't be here. Though I have to wonder, why are you in here?"

"I," Alison hesitated, "I was looking for my parents."

"Oh," croaked Merlin, his voice became more strained as continued the conversation. Rather than vocally ask the girl about the reasons why her parent would be imprisoned, the servant gave a questioning look, hoping she understood.

The girl continued, answering the question behind the man's eyes, "One of Morgana's men saw me perform magic to heal my brother; he managed to hurt his wrist when he tripped and his wrist turned at an odd angle." Alison gave a sad, quiet laugh; her eyes welled up with more tears. "They made a grab for me and my brother tried to stop them. I-I heard one of the sorcerers incant followed by my brother screams."

Tears flowed freely from her eyes, though she still desperately tried to stop it as her hand rubbed at the tears. "I don't know what happened to him, they had already had me chained, but they also grabbed my parents. They dragged us to Morgana and she threatened my parents in order for me to become the Court Physician, use my magic for her services."

The girl stood quiet again and gave the prisoner, who had closed his eyes in exhaustion, a glance. After a moment, Merlin whispered, "You're afraid she didn't keep her promise for your parents' safety."

The girl nodded, "Many have already been punished for speaking out against the Queen, either by flogging or death." Alison mumbled the last statement quietly as her eyes traced the various wounds on the servant, mentally cataloguing them. She itched to close the gaping wound on his chest and to snap the servant's shoulders in place, but she held back by not only her limited knowledge of her magic and medicine but also by the fear of Morgana finding out she had paid an authorized visit to the man.

"I can assume you have not found them yet?" Merlin continued, trying to even his ragged breath and keep calm; the girl's situation, though not a personal front against him, made Merlin ache all the more over the damage the witch had inflicted to the kingdom. If he ever escaped…

No. When, not if.

When he escaped, Merlin reminded himself, ashamed that he had allowed such thoughts into his consciousness. What was he if he allowed himself to sink into the despair, the hopelessness, of his situation? Had the torture, the armlet, the hallucinations really caused him to lose so much faith in himself? What was the point of his suffering if he died in the end after month spent in misery, accompanied by the rats as Morgana's smirk hovered over him? Allowing himself to die right there, hung from the ceiling and ready for slaughter, would had made the last months pointless.

Alison, whose personality Merlin gotten a glimpse of, was one of the many victims under Morgana's rule. She had a family to love, a life to live, yet it was all torn away from her because of a single action, that should have otherwise been harmful. Though under normal circumstances, Alison would had been charged of treason against the crown for participating, in what the Purge forced many to believe, was evil, she still could have been saved. Since Arthur's rule, executions had stop becoming commonplace at the refusal to persecute anyone without evidence. Hell, Merlin was sure Arthur wouldn't even think twice in letting this girl be killed, too young for him to place on the pyre without guilt. Besides, if Camelot had been the proud kingdom it once was before the witch, Merlin was confident that he would have snuck the young healer from the dungeons.

No, Merlin mustn't give up.

_Weakened the way you are, what could you even accomplish?_ returned a voice, though whose Merlin wasn't sure.

All that matter was that he would push his body beyond his limits to save Camelot again.

_Your shoulders were destroyed, arms practically useless, what use is a body that could not properly function?_

He had his magic, he need not fight physically.

_Magic that had been burning you from the inside. A whirlwind of power that you could not possibly control if released. Face it Merlin, you will be worthless before its might._

He would control it, as he always had.

_If you believe so,_ it laughed and faded away.

All the arguments, all the reason it had made, that bade and urged him to relent, to embrace an end no matter if it meant death, began to melt away before his determination. With Alison silent tears for her parents and for, he begun to realize, the servant, Merlin silently swore he would do all he could to place the rightful King back on the throne and bring back the once happy life that had teemed through the city. He would ensure Alison, and all those like her, returned to their homes and families; even if they had nothing to go back to, Merlin would fight for their rights for a peaceful life, away from the war they had no wish to participate..

Alison answered, unaware of the emotions that swept through the prisoner before her, "No and I don't know whether I should be glad for it. They may not be here, but doesn't mean she did not kill them"

Merlin opened his eyes and regarded the girl before her, mentally thankful of her reckless actions that had led him to his revelations. He must focus on the lives that remained, not the one that were lost, the same way he must focus on what he could do and not what he couldn't. His heart was still beating and he still held an element of surprise.

He was Emrys.

He was the prophesized greatest warlock to walk this land and ever walk this land.

Even when Morgana stomped him into the ground, took everything from him, forced him to the edges of sanity, he would always, always, do what must be done for the kingdom. For the beautiful future of Albion he would create alongside his best friend. The witch was nothing.

Morgana was _nothing_.

With that in mind, Merlin opened his eyes, for he had once against closed his eyes, and spoke, his voice a mere whisper, "Alison, you have best be going, before the guards realize you are not meant to be here and don't worry about your parents for they would rather you were safe. Protect yourself, Alison, and wait, for Morgan may have ruled for months but she will not rule forever"

Alison gave a tearful snort, "How would you know?"

Merlin gave her a small smile, his eyes fluttered closed, not in exhaustion but in acceptance, "Because Morgana could never hold the throne for long. We still have hope. The King and Queen are still alive and when the moment they return, they will reclaim the throne from Morgana. I will _ensure_ it."

Alison gave him a measuring look before she walked away, stooped down to collect the supplies from the ground, and returned them to her bag. Then she slung the bag over her shoulder and was about to leave before she changed her mind and turned back towards the servant. Her eyes were rimmed in red, but dry from her tears, as she stared at the servant. She then walked back before Merlin and placed her hand softly against his chest.

Merlin eyes flew open as he gave a small gasp at the sharp sting the girls hand caused against his torn flesh. Alison gave an apologetic smile before she turned her focus at the wound. Merlin only saw a brief glimpse of gold in the girl's eyes before his eyes closed and he gave an involuntary groan. Warmth, emanated from the girl's hand, began to spread throughout his body, to even the very end of his toes and fingers, taking with it the pain and exhaustion that had become familiar to him. It was all Merlin could do to not pass out from relief. Instead, he chose to crack open his eyes and stare in shock and gratefulness at the girl.

"I-it's not m-much," Alison haltingly said, the nervousness underlying her voice gave evidence of her unease towards magic, even her own. "I can't h-heal the wounds, not without Morgana knowledge, but I can at least provide you a break from the pain. I don't know how long the m-magic will last."

With that, Alison turned away and hurried towards the door, not before Merlin saw the slight exhaustion in her eyes that etched into her eyes from the magic. Before she was able to walk through the doorway out of the cell, Merlin spoke up, much louder than before though still rough.

"Thank you, Alison, for everything."

The girl flashed him a smile then left the warlock alone in the cell.

In her wake, the tendrils swirled together into another familiar figure. Still indistinguishable, Merlin could feel its sneer.

_Remember,_ Mer _lin, your worth._

"I know," murmured the servant, his eyes latched onto the illusions, "I understand I am worthless, but I am enough to save Camelot. I am enough against Morgana."

~~~

Arthur marched down the halls of the castle, annoyance filled him as he mulled over the recent message a timid servant had brought him. It had invited him to the local tavern, by the name of The Belching Unicorn, _of all the most ridiculous names_ , to join in a round of drinks among his brother-in-arms. Normally the King would not have given a second thought to nights of drinking before a mission, but this wasn't a mission.

It was a war.

A battle that would determine not only their future but also the future of Camelot. The last thing he needed was his knights tending a hangover during battle.

Though Arthur knew he need not worry for such a thing to happen, excluding Gwaine of course, his mind rationalized he should at least end their night early to err on the side of caution. It was only because of Gaius that Arthur paused in his trek to the tavern.

"Sire," Gaius bowed, "may I have a word? It won't take long."

Arthur sighed before waving his hand for the physician to continue, "What is on your mind Gaius?"

"I want to speak with you about what you plan to do about Merlin and all the other sorcerers that Morgana managed to uproot."

Arthur stood quietly for a moment. The topic on what he would do had always been set at the back of his mind, until now. Arthur thought of all he had learned about his friend, as little as he did managed to get, the past four months. His mind warred over the options he had of his manservant's fate; whether he would accept the warlock, banish, or, Arthur shuddered, execute him. The King could no deny that he held anger against the warlock, but Arthur had begun to realize that he would not lead the servant to his death. He couldn't. Not after all they had one through together and all Arthur was sure Merlin had gone through in the claws of Morgana.

However, where did that leave Arthur?

Could he allow an exception to the laws? And what of the people who were forced out, those who possessed magic but want nothing more than to live peacefully in the safety the shadows had given them from the law? Arthur couldn't imagine reclaiming the throne only to lead more innocents to the pyre.

Still, could he push past years of beliefs that magic was evil, enough to repeal the laws and allow it into the kingdom? Could he disregard the people who feared magic as he had because of the Purge? Or could he sacrifice the people named sorcerers and his druidic allies for the comfort of the rest?

Arthur wasn't sure if he could imagine a land of sorcery, his mind conjured up only images of pain and suffering, beasts attacking and homes burning as magic swept freely through the land. Yet, Arthur reminded himself, wasn't such idea unrealistic, born of prejudice and ignorance? The King was met with a difficult decision, with the right choice being one that would grate against his own personal beliefs and morals.

It was all Arthur could do but say, "I don't know Gaius; I don't know what I am going to do." Arthur rubbed his eyes as he mused over the situation. "I can promise you one thing, I won't execute Merlin nor do I think should the others be executed, but I don't know what to do," Arthur repeated.

Gaius gave him an understanding look and said, "Every King is met with hardships, some more than others. It is up to you, Arthur, to make not only the best but the right choice."

"What must I do then? I can't follow my father's laws, not when we allied ourselves to the druids and gave them the freedom to use their magic in battle."

"I can't tell you what to do Arthur," sighed Gaius, "but I can advise you."

"Then what is it you advise?"

"I will tell you what I have been telling you, Sire. Magic is a part of the natural order of the land, a power that can be both beautiful and frightening depending on the whims of its wielder. If you do not believe magic can be good, though I doubt you still hold such a belief, know that the people use magic in your defense."

"Do you support repealing the anti-magic laws?"

"Yes," Gaius said, meeting Arthur in the eye. Arthur looked away first, unable to meet the eye of the man who had known him since he was a babe.

"Sire," Gaius called, making sure he had the full King's attention before continuing, "Whatever you decide, if you banish Merlin, I will go with him."

"You and Gwaine both," Arthur murmured and watched as Gaius gave another bow and left Arthur in the middle of the hall. He knew Gaius told him this not to convince him to not banish Merlin but to ensure the King understood that he would be without a physician. As for the issue on magic, Arthur found himself pushing it out of his mind; he decided to focus on the current issue with his possibly inebriated knights.

Arthur travelled out of the castle and through the city street. Few people remained outside, most choosing to spend what little time they had with loved ones and friends than interact with their neighbors. They knew what was at stake in the coming days. It was only when Arthur reached the tavern did the silence break by the din of rowdy men and squealing barmaids.

The Belching Unicorn was not the most charming place in Nemeth; it was a two-story building that sat, squashed between two stores. The upper floor was what Arthur assumed housed the inn side of the business, providing room and service to people who travelled to the city. A heavy wooden door, left open, provided an inviting view of antics within. Arthur could see the men who laughed, drank, and even sang while the barmaid scurried about in swishing skirts and chatted with the patrons while they handed wooden mugs of ale and collected payment.

Arthur stepped inside, careful to not bump into anyone as he made his way through. In the back corner of the room stretched a counter, behind which the barman busied himself filling mugs with ale, which he exchanged for empty ones to be cleaned. Many men were simply drinking and having a good time while a few gambled with dice and money being thrown down as the patrons tried their luck. It was beside a gambling table that Arthur spotted his knights.

As he expected, most were sharing a moment of camaraderie over the burn of alcohol. They appeared to be swapping stories and jest as they enjoyed one last night of peace. Though Arthur felt a pang of guilt that he was going to order them back, he knew he had to ensure they were prepared for the journey ahead of them.

"'Ello Arthur!" Gwaine shouted in greeting. He lifted his mug, downed the remaining ale in one gulp before he slammed it down and lifted his hand to a nearby barmaid for more. The barmaid however failed to notice the knight's gesture, distracted by another group of clients.

"Oi, mates," Gwaine turned to the others, "I'll go get us more." With that, the knight stumbled from his chair and navigated his way through the tavern, nearly running into several people..

Arthur gave a sigh, "I came here to tell you guys to have an early night, though it seems I was too late for Gwaine."

"Yes, Sire," responded Leon as around the table the Knights of the Round began to rise from their seats and make their way towards the exit.

"Do you want me to get Gwaine, Sire?" offered Percival with a grin.

"No I can get him," Arthur dismissed, to which Percival nodded and made his leave.

Arthur then headed in the direction Gwaine had gone and soon found the knight leaning against the bar counter, mug in hand, chatting up the barmaid, who Arthur had seen earlier. Though the rambunctious knight seemed to be relaxed and cheerful, Arthur knew better by the tightness in his eyes, the force in his smile, and the speed in which he now downed his ale.

"So Katelin, what's a fine lady like you working here. You don't suppose you're too busy later?" Gwaine said wiggling his eyebrows to the blushing barmaid.

Katelin smirked. "Taverns are wonderful lively places full of very talented men," the barmaid said with a wink; she placed a hand on her hip as she eyed the knight teasingly.

With a laugh, Gwaine exclaimed, "Now that the kind of girl I like!"

"Well Gwaine, sorry to end your fun early, but it's time to go," Arthur said before the situation progressed further.

"Awww," groaned Gwaine, "why must you spoil the fun, Princess?"

"Because the last thing I need is your arse moaning and groaning all the way the Camelot."

"Don't compare your inability to handle your liquor to me. It takes far more than this to get me in such a state, unlike you Princess," Gwaine slurred.

"Then it's a good thing I came to stop you," Arthur smirked, "and order you to go get some sleep while you can."

"Fine," Gwaine grumbled, eyeing the half-empty mug of ale. "But before we leave." Gwaine tipped the remainder of the ale to the floor, where it splashed onto the hardwood floor and splattered the nearby people. Katelin gave a squeal of laughter as she jumped back and dodged the liquid while men all around burst into laughter with the thought of the one drunkard too far gone to even properly hold a mug.

"Gwaine!" Arthur reprimanded and took ahold of the knight's arm, which the King slung over his shoulder and led him out the door, after giving a quick promise to repay the knight's tab.

Out in the cool air and away from the loud noise of the tavern the two stumbled through the road back towards the castle.

"I wanted him to have a drink too," mumbled Gwaine after a while.

Arthur felt his throat constrict and pulled the knight's arm further across his shoulder when he felt the man begin to slide off. Gwaine did not notice and continued in his drunken, stumbling haze.

"When we get back, I want to drink with everyone at The Rising Sun, even you Princess" Gwaine hiccupped around his smile, "and Merlin with his fancy tricks. Oh, the trouble we can do, the endless possibilities magic can give us! Princess, you promise me you will give Merlin a week off! I want to see him drunk. Imagine a sorcerer as clumsy as Merlin drunk!" Gwaine threw back his head in laughter before he lolled against Arthur's shoulder, mumbling on dancing furniture and flying cats that battled against unicorns and wyverns, ideas that made Arthur wonder the extent of the knight's imagination.

When Arthur reached the castle, he led the knight to his room and was just about to dump the drunk onto the bed when Gwaine grabbed the King's shirt and said, "Princess, don't be... a prat… don't do anything to Merlin he doesn't deserve, especially after everything Morgana put him through. I don't want to do something I probably shouldn't." With that, Gwaine pushed off from Arthur and stumbled into his bed. It took seconds before the knight's loud snores began, signifying that the knight had fallen asleep.

King stood there and watched the knight, not surprised by his words but sadden of having been reminded on his friend. Ever since Gwaine and Percival had returned, the two spoke little of what had occurred to them in Camelot. Gwaine, ever the drunkard, had focused into helping the King in any way he could during the day while he drank himself stupid at night. Arthur always believed the man's drinking habits were terrible, yet it seemed to have worsened tenfold since the knight's return. Even Percival seemed to speak less than the norm, choosing to give silent steadfast support in their endeavor to reclaim the throne.

Whatever had caused these changes to his knights, Arthur knew it was bad. There would much to do once they returned; he could not even imagine the damage Morgan had wrought upon the people. As Arthur let the knight's room and returned to his own chambers where he stripped off his tunic and trousers and put on his nightclothes then slid into bed, careful as to not wake Gwen, Arthur imagined what it was like in Camelot and what he would find. Apprehension struck him as he realized he would be one of the first to see Merlin, aside from Gwaine and Percival, after his imprisonment for the past four months. Arthur could not help but shudder when he imagined the different injuries his friend acquired over the course of his imprisonment.

With these thoughts, the King knew he would not be getting much sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

The next day was grueling. With thousands of men to coordinate, feed, and arm, it had taken two days of nonstop marching to reach the Darkling Woods, and hours more for everyone to get settled and gain what little sleep they could. With everyone's combined efforts, three different camps, each situated in the forest at different sections around the city, were established and prepped for the battle. When the fighting breaks out, the tents would be prepped and converted into infirmaries.

They assigned Helena and one other of Lot's group to coordinate one of the camps once the battle began and the injured were plenty; Gaius held command of the camper that lie directly to the east of Camelot where Arthur's people stood at ready. Along with the strange mix of veterans and new trainees, Hunith and Gwen also came, moreto help with the injured than to participate in the fighitng. Mithian had attempted to participate as well, however Rodor had forbidden her to leave Nemeth. Though the King had given his orders to remain behind and watch over the kingdom as a way to ensure the Nemeth was not without a leader, he also wished to keep the princess from the battle in case it did not fare well.

Though he denied it, it was evident to all that Rodor, when it came down to it, wanted only for his daughter to be safe, a sentiment that Arthur whole heartedly agreed on when it came down with his own Queen. After much debate, Arthur finally relented on the matter of Gwen's involvement in the war, making her promise she would not participate in the battle and remain in the camp. Though it irritated her, Gwen settled for the compromise, relieved that she could still be by her husband's side, in a way, while she helped in the war effort.

With the camp settling, Arthur found himself in the midst of pre-battle tension, with men and women who laughed and talked quietly through the night, their minds off the chaos dawn would bring, while other chose to sharpen their swords and check their equipment. Those who would not battle could be seen walking about in the tents as they organized bandages, herbs, and other medical paraphernalia. The King of Camelot observed this as he strode through the camp, searching for Guinevere who was most likely still with Gaius and Hunith in one of the tent. He passed by more fires, his armor clinking as he tapped his fingers against the hilt of his sword and walked towards the edge where before him stood the largest of the tents, with several other smaller ones that interconnected with it, providing even more space needed for the expected flood of wounded.

Pushing aside the flap, Arthur was met with the sight of the familiar trio making last minute check that everything was where it should be. Gwen looked up from where she sat rolling bandages, gave the King a small smile before she placed the fabrics aside, and walked to Arthur. Rather than the finery the Queen had worn since crowned, she wore leather pants and tunic with muddied boots similar to what she had worn in previous times she had journey or battled. Arthur did not know from where she pulled out the outfit but it left him reminiscent to all the previous times they found themselves in this situation. He hoped this would be the last they had to do this.

Gwen pressed herself against Arthur; her arms gently encircled him as Arthur too pulled her closer into a tight hug. They stood there for a moment, relishing in each other presence while Gaius and Hunith stepped out of the tent, with small smiles, to give the royals some privacy. Arthur pressed his lip gently on the crown of his wife's head before he rested his chin against her. After a while, they pulled apart only for Arthur to catch a hold of her chin and bring her into a deep kiss.

When they pulled apart again, slightly panting, Arthur noticed Gwen's face wet with tears, which he gently wiped away.

"I have to go soon," said Arthur in a soft voice.

"Promise me you will be careful," Gwen murmured, her eyes cast downwards at the hands clenched between them. "Promise me you will come back to me safe."

Making sure he held her eyes with his own, Arthur lifted one of Gwen's hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss against her palm.

"I promise."

"Let me walk you to edge. I want to see you as long as I can before you go," Gwen requested and gave the King's hand a small squeeze.

Arthur nodded and led the way outside into the night. He stopped for a second when he heard quiet sobs, and as he searched for the source, Gwen gave Arthur's hand a tug and nodded towards the side of the tent from where the noise originated; his face composed into one of sympathy and understanding. A few feet away stood Gaius who held onto Hunith and patted her back as he consoled her. Her sob were muffled and her tears soaked into the old physician's robe in a rare display of weakness for, aside from when she revealed Merlin's true parentage, the woman had helped the physician to her fullest with steel determination. Arthur's throat constricted as he saw Hunith who he admired for her strength in character break down before him. In respect, the King and Queen turned away from the scene and navigated their way through the camp with Gwen's hand curled around Arthur's arm.

"She's scared," Gwen began after they had walked a distance, "that she won't be able to see Merlin again. Have you figured out what you are going to do?"

Arthur didn't answer. It wasn't that he was unsure in his decision, at least not anymore. It was more that he did not want to see Guinevere's disapproving face. Arthur knew he wouldn't harm his manservant, in fact he knew he _couldn't_ , not after all he had seen of the true nature of magic and implications of the warlock's involvements throughout everything that the King succeeded and survived in his countless adventures. What he decided, instead, was to pick between two options: banishment or acceptance.

Arthur wanted an explanation on everything. Everything the servant had done for or, as doubtful as it was, against Camelot since the servant had at first set foot into Arthur's kingdom. He wanted to choose Merlin's fate not based on past prejudice, betrayals, or even friendship, but on his past deeds. Admittedly, Arthur need for an explanation was born in part for having been lied too for years by the one friend he had always trusted, he still believed that this compromise was the only way he and Merlin would ever be able to get past their differences and move on. The King wanted to hear from the warlock himself that he could be trusted.

Arthur thought past on all the things he had forced himself to believe, to cling on. He was born and raised in distrust against magic; he could not imagine a world in which magic was good and roamed free. His dark thoughts plagued him, and he had wanted to embrace it, to denounce the loyalty and kindness of his friend in his desire to follow at least one of his father's teaching. Though he was still uneasy, Arthur was more prepared to confront Merlin the moment the kingdom had attained peace. He still felt betrayed, he still held the remnants of anger and hatred that consumed him, the mistrust, but Arthur knew that he had to force himself through the mire of negative emotions, not use it to distance himself from the situation but to meet the challenge head on, as he had always done. He would not allow mindless prejudice to blind and take control of him again.

What he was going to say the manservant, Arthur wasn't sure. He knew, however, that he would make sure the man escaped alive. He would give the man the opportunity for an explanation, whether Arthur would banish or allow him to continue employment in Camelot all went down to Merlin's confession.

Upon his revelations, Arthur felt he had for the first time since this all started a clear mind capable of making the right decision. It would be tough, but he knew whatever choice he chose in the end would be the right one for not only him but also the kingdom.

"Arthur?" Gwen asked, bringing Arthur out of his thoughts. Her eyes reflected her concern over the King's next words.

"I won't execute him if that is what you are worried about," Arthur replied, a bit defensively.

Gwen smiled, warmth once again coloring her eyes, "I never believed you would do that, not to your friend."

Arthur nodded and continued, "Yes, but I won't let him off easy. He will tell me the truth, on everything, before I decide what to do with that idiot."

Rather than disapproving, Gwen gave Arthur an even wider smile, "Good."

They finally reached the outskirts of the camp were they found the rest of infiltration team. With the usual rogue grin and lazy stance, Gwaine stood beside a small tent, with confidence and determination, in his armor as he bounced slightly off the balls of his feet in impatience. Next to him knelt Iseldir, calm and dressed in robes darker than the usual brown attire. Before him burned a fire with a small pot that stood over it; the druid grabbed the final ingredient from where he set it down on the ground and added it to the mixture. Then, after a moment of mixing, Iseldir took out a small flask from his pocket, uncapped it, and carefully poured the potion into it.

With hand wrapped around the now full flask, Arthur heard Iseldir incant, " **þu** **beþrunge** **éow** **drýcræftas** **mé** "

Gold flashed in the Druid's eyes, making Arthur fidget uncomfortably from where he stood. He would give magic a chance, but it didn't mean he could just forget all that e learned from since he was a babe. The druid replaced the cap, ensured it was tightened properly as to avoid losing the mixture, before he placed it in an inside pocket of his robe.

"The draught is ready, milord," Iseldir said when he noted the King and Queen's presence with a nod before he stood up. With another flash of gold, he extinguished the small fire and moved the pot into the tent. "Shall we set out?"

"Yeah, Princess, I'm tired of waiting for your precious arse," quipped Gwaine.

Arthur rolled his eyes at Gwaine, "Are you ever going to stop with that 'Princess' thing."

"Nope, you shall always be Princess," came Gwaine's smug reply. "Now, your _Highness_ , let's move your pretty head along so that we may be able to get into position before the sun rises."

Arthur turned to Gwen and placed his hand softly against her face. The Queen closed her eyes for a moment and leaned into the hand, taking a moment to enjoy her husband presence. Then the King took a step closer, leaned in, and gave Gwen a chaste kiss on the lips.

"Be safe," Arthur murmured as he pulled back.

"You too."

Then Arthur, with one last smile to Gwen, turned to the other two men, "Alright, let's go."

The trio navigated their way into the forest. The journey took most of the night as they traveled through the trees that surrounded the city, with occasional stops to listen for approaching patrols so that they may avoid discovery. Arthur was sure that Morgana knew of the army's presence, for it was hard to keep that many men hidden for any long period of time, but their plans would be ruined if Arthur and his small group were discovered. For a moment, Arthur also worried they were not making good time when he glanced up at the stars and noted their changing position.

After a few close calls, they finally arrived at their positions. Glancing from the tree cover, Arthur, for the first time since the attack, set eyes on his beloved city; his eyes scrutinized it as if he could visually spot all the damages the Morgana had done in his absence.

"Sire," Iseldir said, "you should rest while you can, there is sometime before dawn. I will keep watch and wake you when it is time."

"Thank you, Iseldir," Arthur said with a nod before he stepped away from the edge and found a spot to lie down. Gwaine had already sat himself against a tree, his hand loosely wrapped around his sword with eyes closed. Going to another tree, Arthur soon adopted a similar position and wondered if he could even fall into the realm of sleep. It may be sometime until dawn, but the days spent planning and training felt as if it occurred decades ago to the King for it finally came time that all the effort put forth in Nemeth would come into fruition. Besides, the King felt a pang of nervousness at the thought of what he was going to find in the citadel.

It was going to be a long wait until dawn.

* * *

Morgana, with a deranged grin spread wide across her face, paced like a caged lion in anger before the throne. Behind her stood the nervous figure of one of Morgana's more promising of sorcerers. He was a middle-aged man by the name of Aubrey whose father taught him magic when he was a child and whose lessons he expanded upon with age.

Aubrey was from a long family line of successful sorcerers who passed down the art and teachings through the generations. His father had refused to allow their family tradition to end during the Purge, and with the combined efforts of his parents and, ultimately, their sacrifice, they saved Aubrey from the flames. Years later, Aubrey continued to practice sorcery and it wasn't until the previous year that Morgana had discovered him and extended an offer to bring about a new realm ruled by magic. He was hesitant at first but soon relented into subservience under Morgana. Even in his seclusion from the world, he heard and knew the extremes Morgana would willingly take and her unstable nature, but with bitterness against Camelot had done to his family cultivated during his time in isolation, Aubrey would gladly drench his hand in blood to watch the destruction of magical persecution. At least that was what he believed a year ago, but a year was a lot of time for change to occur.

Regret was the emotion that dominated Aubrey in recent days. He was accustomed to years as a hermit, drapes drawn closed at his small hut on the edge of the small, tiny really, village he lived in. He was the odd man that children spoke on in their stories to frighten each other at night. In a village he had lived in for decades, since he was a child, he was still a stranger. He never moved from his home, not since he first settled there in the care of a family friend, a friend who knew of Aubrey's plight and provided the boy a roof over his head and a warm meal. In his hermitage life, Aubrey learned his craft with the books his father had given to him when he escaped his childhood home. Since then, the only thought of Camelot he held was one of hatred and nothing more. Any thoughts of revenge passed fleetingly through his mind for it was inconceivable to him that he could do much on his own against an entire kingdom.

It seemed, however, that his thoughts of revenge were strong enough to encourage an alliance with Morgana herself and it was a decision he had come to regret since she took the throne. Too many, there were too many innocents that were slaughtered, many of which anyone with a rational mind could had avoided. Aubrey wished he could go back to his little hut, back to when Morgana first showed up on his doorsteps, and refuse the witch, but he was in too deep and his hands were soaked in blood of many, too many. He felt as if he had sacrificed his soul to the cause, sold away his morals and pride for revenge.

He felt ashamed for what he had done, for when he enjoyed driving out King and Queen from their home the way Uther had drove him from his; however, his enjoyment was short lived as the realization of what he caused to Camelot struck him. Aubrey remembered the corpses that lined the streets, civilians killed only for being on the way to the citadel at the center. The sorcerer shuddered when he remembered the dead children he had stumbled upon and though he had wanted to leave, to turn his back against the witch and the darkness that tainted all she touched, Aubrey realized with horror that by not fighting against the "enemy" he would be committing an act of treason. If he believed his escape was impossible before, it was even more so after Tara was killed; her death left a void in the command structure for the sorcerers. Morgana may had been the final law, but Tara served her purpose in organizing group while she gleefully carried out each and every order from Morgana. With her gone, Morgana had chosen Aubrey to lead, not for his loyalty to the witch, but because he had been just as powerful as Tara had while he also lacked the backbone to stand against the witch. His fear forced him to lead her men and though he hated every moment his orders killed another innocent, being in command also allowed him to protect a few people who would have otherwise been killed.

The moment Geoffrey of Monmouth was forced to have Morgana crowned, she began to round all sorcerers she could find under her control. The royal court of Camelot that had been unable to escape remained in the shadow of fear for when Morgana would tire of them. She killed men, women, and children when they dared to speak against the witch and executions became even more common than during the Purge. When the witch began her rule, Aubrey finally realized the depth of her insanity, insanity that was now unmasked as she paced.

"What fool believes he could go against the might of magic," Morgana laughed, "Arthur _dares_ underestimate _me_? His pathetic knights will be slaughtered."

She didn't care for her own people, just her excitement on finally eliminating the King, was all Aubrey thought when he replied, "Milady, perhaps we should prepare for battle and go to them?"

"Let them come," Morgana dismissed, and the glee twisted into a snarl. "What I want to know is why now? This reeks of Emrys' doing. Who else can convince Arthur into the offensive?"

She didn't even blink when Tara died, and the sorceress was the most loyal. "Then I will prepare the sorcerers and army for an attack in the outer fields."

Morgana suddenly stopped and turned to him, her face inches from his, "Do it, but Arthur is mine. You are to find and capture him. I want you to bring him to me. The gods have mercy on you if anyone dares kill him."

Morgana stepped away, returned to her pacing, and began to think aloud, "Emrys has to be the one instigating this. That blasted servant is practically useless to me now, might as well kill him."

The servant, the source of much of the witch's juxtaposition of ire and amusement, had often been looked on with pity. Aubrey had seen the loyalists sneer at mere mention of the man's name, others give indifferent looks, and yet the rest, such as himself, wince. It was common knowledge amongst her army what Morgana sought and the extent she would go to find it. When it all began, many of the loyalist placed bets on how long the servant would last; none expected the servant to last this long.

"Would you want me to send someone to do it," offered Aubrey, thinking on who could perform a mercy killing, give the man a swift end to his suffering. As quick and painless as possible after the months the man had been forced through.

"No, he is not of my concern. I pushed him too far last time," Morgana smiled and her eyes distant in a moment of happiness, though the source of her cheer was far from being happy. "His mind has already broken, he won't survive for long."

The sorcerer felt a shiver run down his spine. He pitied the man who had met such a fate; death would have been preferred.

Morgana placed a thoughtful finger against her chin as she pondered the situation more, "Emrys is definitely behind this attack. Perhaps if we can capture Arthur we can lure him out into the open. Once my brother is in our grasp, it will be easy to kill him. Either Emrys shows up or Arthur dies. When Emrys reveals himself, I am confident that that coward won't be much of a threat when he is not cowering in the shadows.

"Aubrey, prepare the men. If I know my brother, I know he will attack at dawn; I rather we fight in the open rather than the trees, that way it'll be easier to find him."

"Yes, milady," said Aubrey with a bow and left. He made his way down the hall and thought of the witch. She would do anything to kill this Emrys and of all things he witnessed during his time with the witch, it was only Emrys she feared. Aubrey hoped that fear was for good reason. Whoever this Emrys person was, he was perhaps the only one capable of stopping Morgana.

Aubrey sighed.

It was time to gather the sorcerers and pass on the message to start preparations. They were about to enter into battle, and a bloody one at that based on the numbers the patrol had reported earlier in the night. As Aubrey walked, he noted all the chimeras, savage terrible beasts; they slinked past him in what he could assume was a gathering. It looked like Morgana wasn't going to take chances and send in her creatures to ensure she got what she wanted.

It would be a long, bloody battle indeed.

* * *

They had moved out when the sky began to brighten. Leon stood at the front of the formation of soldiers, leading the group directly from the east. To the north were Lot and his men and south Rodor, as ready as they would ever be for combat. By him stood Percival and Elyan, both armored and with swords belted in place. Though Leon was acting as command, his two brother-in-arms had as much authority as he, prepared to face the day with determination and confidence that many associated to a knight of Camelot. Around them was a mix of fellow knights, who had escaped the kingdom, and those whom they had trained. A handful of druids were dispersed amongst them as well, doing last minute enchantments on armor and weapons. Together, they walked through the Darkling Woods and reached the edge, with the camps full of healers to their backs as they faced the challenges that lie ahead of them, across the fields.

It seemed, though not surprising, that Morgana had mobilized her men around the castle in the direction of the attack; Morgana's own sorcerers stood with grim determination as the soldiers stood at attention. In front of them, and all around, crouched the chimeras, intermingled among the opposing army. They hissed and snarled at the invaders general direction, ready to wet their maws in blood.

Arthur and the other Kings had guessed Morgana would push her advantage to the frontline, for they did not have much to combat against those monsters. Therefore, they decided all around that they would have to strike back with a surprise of their own. So when the chimeras rose from their crouch and began to make their way across the fields, all Leon did in response was nod to the nearest Druid, a young woman, barely past adulthood, by the name of Emma who acknowledged the command and began to incant. Few seconds later, after she finished the incantation with a hand raised towards the sky, her eyes flashed gold and she shot a bolt of light into the sky. Across the field, a wave of confusion seemed to affect the army but otherwise they remained where they were, waiting for the chimeras to make short work of the enemy.

The chimeras were slow in their procession at first, as if they wanted to savor the moment while they also gave their prey a chance to run or attack. After the initial start, they began to pick up speed as they stretched their paws further out into longer strides Leon felt a slight twinge of anxiety as the large creatures barreled towards them, the sounds of hundreds of padded feet pounding against the ground echoed across the field. From his peripheral vision, Leon saw more chimeras charging towards Lot and Rodor's men.

It was when the chimeras were about halfway when a deafening roar boomed from above the battlefield. Aided by powerful muscles, the dragons flew with speed and agility, with jaws thrown open in their roars, displaying their dagger like teeth. Together, before the startled chimeras could make a move, the dragons cut off their roar as they tilted their body to the ground and pulled their wings close their bodies. They sped towards the creatures and, in unison, opened their maws wide; from between a great burst of flames erupted towards the chimeras. Once close to the ground, they split apart and each took care of opposite sides of the battlefield, dousing the monsters in flames. The chimeras hissed and shrieked as they tried to dodge the flames with variety degrees of success. Behind the creatures, the sorcerers conjured shields to protect the rest of the army from the inferno.

Leon gave silent thanks to the two as they carried on their onslaught. Then, with their enemy distracted, Leon unsheathed his blade and raised it to the sky as he shouted his orders to attack. All around him the fighters mimicked his actions and charged after Leon, along with Elyan and Percival, across the field. Behind them, their crossbowman fired their weapons while the druids swiftly moved through the crowd with spells on their lips, hand outstretched for magic and sword readied in their other.

The battle had begun

* * *

At first light, Arthur was shaken awake, forced out of fresh nightmares, by Gwaine.

"Beauty sleep's over, Princess."

Arthur nodded and followed Gwaine to join Iseldir at the edge, careful to remain in the shadows.

"Her army is organized beyond the city walls," Iseldir informed Arthur, his eyes still on the city.

Arthur shook his head, "It's easier for us to fight in close spaces; she still outnumbers us. But we can't afford to fight within the city walls, too many civilians will be pulled in."

They stood and waited in silence, tense as they searched for the signal. Arthur wanted to make sure the battle had started before entering the city. This ensured that the least amount of attention would be on who was entering the city and more on the battle on the other side. This was another advantage for the battle not taking place in the walls along with it allowing them to minimalize innocents' deaths.

"There it is," mumbled the Druid as he heard the dull roars echo. Arthur swallowed; so the dragons had begun their attack.

"Time to go," Arthur said.

With a chant, Iseldir casted an enchantment on the three, one he claimed would provide a camouflage of sorts as a means to hide them from unwanted eyes. Though if the guards focused on them, they would be discovered, as for a passing glance, it would work perfectly fine. After it was cast, the three ran quickly and quietly towards the city.


	11. Chapter 11

Fresh blood seemed to soak through the sole of his boots as Leon treaded his way through the ocean of men. All around him sounded the battle cries and moans as the men clashed against each other. With accuracy and power he developed throughout his life of knighthood, Leon easily parried aside an incoming attack, targeted for his side, and stabbed his sword into the attacker's gut. He charged forward and used his momentum to slide the body off his blade so that he was freed to turn and meet his next foe.

Though he and many others were swift to cut down men in the opposing army, they still struggled to hold their own against the overwhelming odds. The chimeras, who had suffered some casualties from the dragons, made short work on them. With the difficulty it took to kill them, the chimeras held an advantage over mortal men. They slashed and bit into the men even as the blades managed to pierce through their hides. The snakes squirmed from their position and took every opportunity to strike out against soldiers who stood nearby; occasionally they landed their fangs into exposed flesh, pumping venom into their victim's bloodstream and killing them within minutes. It took the combined efforts of the Druids and dragons to keep them at bay.

The Druids shouted their spells, attacking the chimeras with everything they had, from fireballs and small whirlwinds to simple force and telekinesis. Still the felines rose up and continued their attack, only a few died and that was including the ones that the dragons killed in the initial attack. Above the clashing armies were the dragons as they flew across the sky; they dove and attacked the chimeras, bobbing in and out of the battle field as they picked up one of the monsters and dropped them screaming to the ground. Their claws and fangs tore into chimeras, sorcerers, and soldiers alike but refrained from using their flames; they did not want the uncontrolled inferno to accidentally kill their allies. Though they were in a sense limited in their attack to keep friends safe, Kilgharrah and Aithusa managed to hold back the brunt of the chimeras, barely.

Another attack descended on the knight and Leon lifted his blade once more into a parry. They must hold out as long as they could and though the struggle was difficult and the casualties would be great by the end of the day, Leon knew it would be worse if they lost. Their lost would leave the kingdom, and all of Albion, torn apart by the insane witch.

They must not lose.

* * *

Arthur hand shot out, snatched Iseldir around the arm, and pulled him into the shadows while Gwaine, who noticed the sound of the pounding footsteps, retreated as well. When the guards passed by, Iseldir gave a nod of thanks to the King and continued their trek. They had managed to find their way into the citadel and slowly made their ways through the halls, dodging the guards that ran by, panicked, as they scrambled to defend themselves. It appeared most of the inhabitants chose to remain in their rooms as well, perhaps with hopes to wait out the battle without being dragged in as well.

They finally approached the steps to the dungeons. The two warriors shared an understanding look and drew their blades, keeping it out before them as they began their descent into the dungeons. At the foot of the stairs, Arthur glanced around the corner, into the guardroom commonly used to keep watch over the dungeons, and motioned to his companions that there were two men present. Iseldir gave Arthur a nod and sidled around the King, careful not to make noise that may reveal their position to the guards. They were already on alert with an army at the doorsteps of the city, and whether they were Morgana's loyalists or Arthur's fear-driven men, they would rather not take the chance. The last thing they wanted was to inform Morgana of their presence within the citadel.

" **Swefe nu** ," Iseldir whispered. The guards slumped against the table in which they sat in; their chainmail clinked when they landed. Arthur took the lead again, skirted past the sleeping guards, and went further into the dungeons. At first cells that lined the hall, the group paused, unsurprised at to what they found within each prison.

Inside, the cells were packed full of men, knights stripped of their weapons but still clad in their chainmail as if they were imprisoned moments before the attack. The sight of which gave Arthur a strange mixture of relief and pity. The King was glad to know that the men who had remained trapped within Camelot were not forced into the battle, but kept here away from the slaughter. Arthur knew he was already going to lose his people on the battlefield; at least they wouldn't be killing each other. Yet, he was saddened at the thought that his once great and mighty warriors were left to rot in the dungeons. The knights of Camelot were noted for many things and the last of which was to sit on the sidelines twiddling their thumbs while a battle was fought for their King.

The knights took notice of the group and several gasped as they recognized Arthur. They called out to their King in excitement, each one more than ready to fight. Iseldir once again stepped around Gwaine, past Arthur, and went to each cell with a hand held out. With several flashes of gold, the druid made his way to each cell door and unlocked them. Not accustomed to a friendly sorcerer and not expecting one to be with the King, let alone use sorcery at his orders, the knights gave wary looks to the druid as they exited their cells, many suspicious of the sorcerer.

"Sire," one of the men called to Arthur with a bow, but cast a suspicious look to Iseldir, "if I may be too bold to ask, what is going on?"

"Sir Caridoc," Arthur answered, "we are taking Camelot from Morgana."

"But sorcery? Why enlist the help from something that ultimately caused all this?"

"The druids came as allies, ready to combat against powers our blade cannot handle. They are our allies, along with the people of Nemeth and Essetir, and are to be respected as such. When I have reclaimed the throne, they will be the first I thank," answered Arthur with an undertone of reprimand. For the first time since Arthur's revelations on magic, the King saw the discrimination against magic from an observer viewpoint. Even when Iseldir had freed them, Arthur was shocked to see that mistrust colored the faces of the men rather than gratitude. He thought back to his own prejudice but immediately cast it from his mind. He did not have time to waste on the current opinions against socery.

"Yes, Sire," Sir Caridoc said with a sharp nod.

"Are you and the others battle ready?"

"Yes, Morgana had us quickly removed, without word on what was going on, into dungeons. I assume she does not trust us to fight against our King," Caridoc reported. "She took away our weapons but nothing more; I doubt she had time to worry about more than that with an army at her doorsteps."

"Alright, are there more people in the dungeons?" asked Arthur.

"Yes, people awaiting trial for treason and," Caridoc hesitated and glanced at Iseldir who chose to stand by Gwaine in the crowded hall, "sorcerers who refuse to swear an oath to Morgana."

"And Merlin?"

Caridoc hesitated again, "Your manservant?"

Arthur nodded

"He's further down the dungeon, Morgana kept him away from the others though it is not hard to imagine what she does to him down there," Caridoc shuddered. "I don't suggest you go, Sire."

"And why's that?" Arthur asked as dread filled him.

Caridoc gave him a sympathetic look, "Many of us knew what was being done to him but most weren't sure on the details. It was a day or two ago that Morgana stopped going down there; from what we heard, there was nothing Morgana could get from him. We assumed Merlin had been killed."

Arthur froze, unable to truly process this new information. Then he felt nauseous as he allowed grief to overwhelm him. The King stood there, before the worried glances of his knights, as he thought of his best friend. Gwaine let out a string of angry curses, though his anger was shallow and did nothing to hide the knight's own anguish over his best friend.

Then the king pulled himself together. He had to, for his kingdom and everyone who was relying on him in their endeavor and though all would be lost without Merlin, Arthur clung to a single word in his knight's response.

"Let us hope your assumption is false, Caridoc," Arthur said, "For now, you are to escort all the other prisoners out of here. Anyone who can and willing to fight I want out in the fields helping the others, even the sorcerers. You can form an attack force and take them from behind. Anyone else who wish to remain out of combat I want kept out of harm's way. I, Iseldir, and Sir Gwaine will continue and retrieve Merlin, whether he is dead or alive."

"Well that sounds good to me, come on Arthur," Gwaine said, his eyes full of steel and grief - the knight no longer cared for jokes, not when his closest friend could be dead- "let's go save a servant."

* * *

Morgana released her spell with the words of power, relishing in the magic that swept through her body and burned her eyes as another foe fell to the ground dead. Her magic was beautiful and powerful; it could bring down the strongest man with a casual wave of her hand. Her skill with the blade was not without its use for she twirled the steel that she held alongside her incantations and plunged it into her enemies. Yet she could feel fury as strong as the heat in the fireball she held in her hand, ready to launch at the next soldier who dared attack her; as she waded her way through the battlefield, she grew increasingly frustrated.

Every man she slaughtered, every person she cut down, brought her no closer to finding Arthur. Knowing her brother, Morgana believed the King at the front of his army, leading his men into a hopeless campaign with words of courage and hope. Instead, he presented her with fodder, none that neither gave her any satisfaction in victory nor led her any closer to it. Morgana had even seen a few knights the witch knew to be close to Arthur, specifically Leon, a distance away in the midst of battle but not a glimpse of the blond-haired King himself.

Where was he? He would not cower while his men fought. On the contrary, she knew him to be one that would be the first to attack.

The witch also felt her ire intensify when she spotted those of magic among the opposition. Druids fought for the man willingly, forgetting the persecution and pain that was brought upon them in the past, of the prosecution that still went on. How convenient that they forgotten their peaceful nature in light of helping Arthur. It was not only the presence of the druids that surprised the witch, but also the arrival of the dragons, both of which Morgana recognized. The supposedly killed Great Dragon was causing the most damage for he managed to kill a few of the chimeras edging the battle closer to a stalemate rather than the easy victory Morgana predicted. The two battled against each other, chimeras biting and digging their claws around the dragon's scales while the dragon batted them away with his own talons and tail.

Few chimeras were being killed, not enough that could ensure the enemy victory but enough to stave off the creatures from the more vulnerable soldiers. Though the Great Dragon took on the most chimeras, the smaller white dragon supported. It snapped at chimeras that attacked at the Great Dragon's blind spots but also diverted most of its attention on the chimeras that weren't attacking the flying beasts. The younger dragon used its size to weave through past the men, quick to attack the creatures before they could fight back. Those chimeras not targeted by the dragons were all too happy to disembowel the humans that scurried about, the snakeheads became more deadly as it soon recognized the weak points of chainmail.

Morgana could not understand these dragons. The Great Dragon was chained for twenty years, and here he was aiding the reason for the near extinction of dragons and their Dragonlords. She had heard of the dragon's rampage on Camelot that was only stopped when Arthur reportedly killed the dragon. Whatever had happened, Morgana had a hard time believe Arthur managed to sway the dragon to his side. The white dragon was another mystery. Aside from its origins, Morgana believed the dragon supported her cause. For wasn't it the white dragon that healed her when she had last failed in her conquest? Yet the dragon was clearly here, defending the wrong side. Perhaps the dragon had been raised such a way since when she had last met it, it was no taller than her knees. A young, impressionable dragon would be easy to raise and train.

Morgana shook the thoughts from her mind as she danced her way through the battle, a swirl of silver and gold, as she struck to and fro against those who dared stand in her way. Crimson accentuated her deadly steps and she increased the ferocity of her attacks. The viciousness of each thrust of her blade grew the more the pile of nameless soldiers grew in her wake, each not the King she was furiously searching for. Her magic continued to burn through her eyes and rush through her body as she directed the nearest chimeras to her bidding.

Eager to appease their mistress' commands, the felines slunk to her sides, teeth bared against the closest soldiers; the men stepped back, hesitant in approaching the witch and her creatures. Amongst them stood two druids, women garbed in studded leather and wielded a short sword in one hand. One had hair kept short while the other's wild tangles were kept in two braids. They were both dark in complexion and hair colored brown nearly black. Though they kept a stance that displaced both confidence and power, their eyes betrayed nervousness. With a nod to each other's direction in agreement, the two women stepped out, away from their allies, to confront Morgana, their swords kept at ready while the fingers in their opposite hand was kept splayed in preparation to use magic.

"Interesting how you all are willing to give your life for an absent King. Tell me, where is that dear brother of mine?" Morgana taunted with a sneer.

"Give up, witch," spat the longhaired woman, "the King and Emrys are already working on the destruction of your reign."

"Together, there is no stronger pair. They will bring about your downfall," supported the other with just as much venom.

"Arthur is nothing without his precious Emrys, a warlock that had shown neither hide nor tail since I claimed Camelot. You have been fighting a losing battle from the start," jeered Morgana. With a nod, the chimera sprang forward. They leapt at the druids, with claws extended and jaws open, ready and anxious for the metallic taste to coat their tongues. In response, the women were swift to erect a barrier around them; just in time for a second later, the two creatures slammed into the shield forcing the druids to grit their teeth against the force.

Morgana watched in amusement as the druids did battle with her chimeras, satisfied that the druids struggled to hold back the creatures. While they fought, the soldiers behind them were busied defending the two from the rest of their enemies, managing to allow the two women to concentrate on the chimeras rather than the common soldier. Though, the druids' ability to withstand the onslaught of the chimeras impressed Morgana, they were nowhere near as powerful as herself. They were not the most powerful she had ever met but Morgana acknowledged the great skill in which the duo wielded their magic. If the witch had found these women previously, she was confident that she would have coerced them onto her side.

Alas, there was no choice but to waste such talents, pity.

Morgana drew back her arm with a spell in mind and at ready upon her lips as she felt power draw into her again. Just as she had been about to unleash a fatal spell upon the druids, she stopped. She felt her arms drop while her stance remained frozen. The only movement she made was the smile that grew across her face.

The druidic women were no longer her priority; before they stood in the way of what she wanted, now not anymore. There was no need to keep fighting in the battlefield nor was there a need to search for Arthur for Morgana knew exactly where to find the man. He wasn't at the head of the battle or hidden away to let his men fight the battle for him.

It was as she was about to strike when she felt the chill that ran down her spine. A chill not of fear but of enchantment; the enchantment that locked the cells beneath Camelot had been open without her permission. There was no reason for anyone to be opening the cells in the dungeon, not when she ordered only those who would potentially betray her to be locked up. Her people knew better than to disobey a direct order, they knew the consequences.

It was Arthur. Arthur was in the heart of Camelot in what Morgana assumed to be in the process of freeing his men. He was probably even going to release Merlin, or at least what was left of the man.

With a smirk, Morgana turned away from the battle she had been watching and strode through the soldiers, killing only those who tried to stop her. She then paused, only for a short while, as she looked back to the chimeras still engaged in battle with the druidic women. Then she waved her hands towards the two chimeras and others nearby, delivering to each one her orders.

Her army could take care of this nuisance and the chimeras could take care of another annoyance. Morgana only wanted the grand prize that currently lurked within the depths of the castle.

* * *

The clamor of the wounded and dying barraged her ears as Gwen worked frantically in tending to the men brought from battle. Across the tent Gaius stood, shouting out orders as he stood over the more gravely injured while Hunith mutely grinded herbs and prepared more draughts, from painkillers to sedatives, by a tables at the edge of the tent. Gwen was familiar to this chaos after having dealt with previous attacks on Camelot, and allowed her to be pulled into calm state of mind she often retreated to when dealing with the injured.

That was until Percival, grim in face, brought Elyan in, supported over the giant's shoulders by his arm.

"Elyan!" Gwen gasped in fear and rushed to her brother side, eyes widening in horror at the stab wound on his side. Quickly, the young Queen examined the injury, assessing that though it did not hit any of the knight's vitals, the bleeding would have to be stopped and the wound cleaned and bound to protect it against infection.

"What happened," Gwen asked as she began to clean to wound, mindful not to cause any more pain than necessary.

"I was caught by surprise," Elyan panted, sweat glistening against his brow, "I should have been more attentive."

"He was handling too many at once," admonished Percival.

"There are many to fight," retorted Elyan with a grin.

Gwen rolled her eyes and allowed herself a small smile. If he could still joke then he was not in any mortal danger for now. She turned to Percival, "Thank you for bringing him in."

Percival bowed his head then left the tent to return to the battlefield. He had brought Elyan for treatment and no longer had a reason to stay in the healers' tents. He was more suited for combat, as gentle of a soul he was, than to the healing arts.

So into the fray he returned, ready to fight to the best of his abilities.

* * *

Aubrey cast his spells against the invaders. He struck down soldiers quickly with spells that merely incapacitated the enemy rather than kill. He had too much blood on his hand already; he did not want to add more, though he did not hesitate to kill if he must to protect himself. Another sleep spell and the sword that approached his heart fell from the soldiers hand as his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he collapsed to the ground.

Aubrey hoped his effort were not in vain for it was not exactly safe for one to remain unconscious amidst the battlefield. However, the sorcerer could not do much but hope; at least they had more of a chance of survival. Aubrey stared around the battle, sadly watched as men and even the occasional women were killed as each side was motivated by different reasons; one of fear, the other loyalty.

Another sword slashed towards him forcing Aubrey to take a step back away from the danger and raise a sword of his own to block the swipe. Though he was not much of a sword fighter, Aubrey still managed to parry the blade; the force of the blow caused him to stumble back even more, nearly losing his balance. His opponent, a slightly taller man with lean muscles, drew his arm back again and thrust it forward, taking advantage to the opening in Aubrey's defense. Quick incantation halted the sword's progression and another spell tossed the man against the ground.

Aubrey winced at the force in which the man hit the ground but was grateful that it had knocked the man unconscious as well. It was when he looked up to look for the next fight that Aubrey spotted the chimeras at the edge of battle.

Aubrey had found himself facing off against the southernmost group, ordered by Morgana who entered the fray herself in order to find Arthur without delay. It was at the edge that a group of chimeras began to concentrate at, running from the general direction of the eastern group.

There stood seven of them, a big group for creatures that usually travel in pairs, not to mention most focused their attention against the dragons that still flew above them. The men they faced edged towards them nervously, unsure how they may take down an enemy that proved difficult to kill, one that not even dragons could fully handle. Then, in sync, four of the chimeras attacked, forcing the men back further in a whirlwind of claws and fangs. Aubrey watched in amazement as the three left sprinted forward around the men, the first four finished their targets before they continued to the other soldiers trying to prevent the three chimeras from breaking through.

Aubrey hesitated for only a second before he found himself chasing after the chimeras as well; he lagged behind for he was unable to keep up with the speed in which the creatures ran. That was when Aubrey realized how much the opposing side was pushed back the moment he was in the trees far sooner than expected.

" **Hiera** **gangas** **ætíaþ** ,"Aubrey incanted, his eyes glowed gold. Beneath the chimeras, the ground gave a soft white glow, a glow that none but Aubrey could see that showed the direction in which the chimeras were going. Aubrey did not know why he was following these creatures, abandoning the fight. The sorcerer had always known himself to be a coward and if Morgana discovered later that Aubrey had left his post, he would most likely be killed. Either way, even as the chimeras sped through the trees, further away from Aubrey, the sorcerer would still be able to find them. He had a bad feeling as to why the chimeras chose to abandon the fight to go into the trees. Aubrey refused to allow another regret to add to his burden for regret he would have if he ignored his hunch that these particular chimeras were up to no good.

The sorcerer hoped he was wrong, for there would be little he could do to stop them.

* * *

"Here," Gwaine spoke, his voice lacked any mirth he had left. There was no room for jest, not now.

The group had made their way slowly through the dungeons, much more slowly than Arthur would have liked. Morgana had imprisoned dozens of people within the cells, though there were fewer the further they went in. They had released many knights, sorcerers, and civilians with the civilians scurrying for a hiding place while the knights and sorcerers, uneasily, pledged to enter the battle as reinforcements. It had taken them what precious little time they had to release everyone.

Now they stood before a heavyset wooden door, the door that led into the cell that had been Merlin's personal hell for the last four month. It would be the first time in those four months that Arthur had last seen his friend and he was still unsure on his stance in magic.

What would he say to his servant? Would he greet him with warmth or distrust? Did Merlin deserve such distrust after what he suffered? Arthur knew the servant deserved respect and gratitude for all the pain he had gone through, for allowing Arthur a chance, as small as it was, to stop Morgana. He had known the man for years, years of which Arthur believed to be genuine in his friendship, but Arthur still feared magic, still felt suspicious of it. How could he not be? He was raise to believe magic as evil, nothing else and though he was more lenient towards magic users than his father's rule, Arthur edged closer to against than for the practice.

Of course, the sorcery side of the problem was still his least worrisome thoughts. Before he would be consumed about the ethics and morality of magic and the laws against it for what else could he do after discovery his best friend was a sorcerer. One thing he had managed to push from his mind was the condition said friend was in. Morgana was brutal when she interrogated her prisoners, but when presented with one she had particular strong hatred against, Arthur could only imagine how she would act out with such intense emotions.

Four month was a long time to be in the witch's clutches. What Arthur had heard on the progress through the dungeons made him feel no better for the servant. Arthur knew he should focus on the consequences if Merlin was unable to help them, if Morgana had succeeded in killing the warlock in either mind or body, but he felt more fearful of losing his best friend. This close to Merlin, Arthur felt none of the betrayal and hurt he had felt in Nemeth. He had more than enough time for that if they survived. It was the surviving that mattered and it was the survival the Arthur was afraid his best friend had not done.

Could Arthur handle the death of his best friend? Arthur wasn't an idiot; he knew based on what he had heard, specifically recently, about his best friend showed him he owed the warlock for much more than he thought was possible. Though he did not know the full story behind his mysterious friend, Arthur knew that the chance he was willing to give the man would result in allowing the servant to stay. The King had already been forced to see the effects bigoted laws caused against the magical community and try as he might Arthur could no longer pretend to see monsters amongst the faces of men, women, and children who caused no harm.

Iseldir stepped up with hand extended to unlock the door, his face showed some exhaustion from his previous use of the spell. Arthur grabbed the man wrist, stopping the druid from performing the spell that would reveal what lay beyond the door.

"Sire?" Iseldir questioned, eyebrows raised.

"Arthur, let him go," glared Gwaine.

The King paid neither of them mind. He stared at the door, challenging it to reveal its secrets. Arthur was afraid, afraid of what he would find beyond this moment. This was the moment that decided their fate, whether they win or lose, live or die, yet Arthur cared little for that for the moment spelled out; an outcome far different than any outsider would believe worried the King.

When they open the door, when they see what was inside, it could change everything for Arthur. This was the moment that Arthur had feared since he had first discovered his friend had survived capture. This was the moment that could make or break the King.

Arthur could feel it.

The guilt.

The guilt that prowled in the corners of his mind, reminding him of his role in the servant's predicament; guilt that was kept at bay with thoughts of Merlin the liar and not Merlin the friend. Merlin the traitor who represented the evil of sorcery Uther had believed.

The traitor, the liar, the killer.

One not to be trusted, one not to be pitied. Arthur should not feel guilty for one so evil.

Yet here he was, ready to save the supposed monster his mind tried so hard to create out of the servant. A monster that ruled his nightmares.

A monster that, realistically, could not be his friend. The monster his friend never was.

This truth was what truly frightened the King. He had not only failed to protect the innocent, but he also failed to protect those closest to him.

He had failed the one friend he had, the friend who had changed him for the better over the years.

The one who protected his kingdom and family.

But mostly the one who became his true friend, a friend that saw Arthur not as royalty to be used to gain status but as a man of equal standing. A man who was forced for four months to suffer for the good of all.

Arthur released the druid's wrist and gave a nod, though his eyes remained stormy. The King would have to face this, face what he had done to his friend and whether they would be able to keep their friendship after all this was over.

Arthur knew that what he was about to witness would haunt him the rest of his life.

He would face it. He would take this first step towards his friend, towards his future, so that one day his kingdom and everyone inside would find peace.

He would ensure Merlin gained the peace he deserved.

" **Tospringe**."


	12. Chapter 12

Leon's breath came out in pants as he stood shoulder to shoulder with Percival and batted away oncoming soldiers. They knew Morgana's army was strong but, amidst the battle, it felt as if she held command over an infinite number of men. The knights slashed through men, their shoulders ached more and more as they beat down more foes, trying to keep pace at the rate in which they attacked. Above them circled Kilgharrah, his wings moved slower in fatigue as the dragon took every opportunity to coast on air currents before he once again swooped down on the chimeras, talons extended and teeth bared, and tore at them.

"Damn, there are too many," Leon panted as he caught another blade on his own and stopped it from landing at Percival's unguarded side as the giant exchanged blows with another soldier. A few paces away, a sorcerer noticed the distracted knights and directed a spell towards them. As it travelled through the air, a gold barrier flashed around the knights and enclosed them, along with their current attackers. The spell smashed into the transparent walls causing the spell to ripple into the barrier before shattering apart. As the shield disintegrated apart, he knights gave it not a moment of thought, for they had already experienced such protection earlier, and quickly dispatched their foes.

Emma moved closer to the two knights; the gold that faded from her eyes gave evidence that she casted the shield. Much like the dragons and warriors, the druids also felt the effects of a drawn out battle. They remained determined to continue the battle yet no determination could prevent the exhaustion from highlighting their eyes as often as the gold did. Emma kept up a continuous flow of incantations around her, guarding not only the knights but also others who could not defend nor attack against magical means; since the start of the battle, the sorceress was able to take down two enemy sorcerers. Though the magic wielders on the opposing side, they were caught off guard du to the inability to predict the druids' involvement and skills in sorcery.

"Sir Leon," Emma called out, her brow furrowed. She threw out her hand and once more erected another barrier around her and Leon so they may speak while Percival stepped away to continue the fight. "I was just contacted by other druids."

"What did they say?" Leon asked as he stuck his sword into the ground, still maintaining his grip on the hilt.

"The battle goes badly for them, worse than us. The chimeras are too much for the men and our magic to combat and they cannot call for the dragons, who are too busy with most of the monsters here. Morgana's sorcerers are not helping the situation either. We are being pushed back even closer to the forest. There was also reports that a few saw Morgana leave the battlefield, we fear that she had caught on to our plans."

"Then what of Arthur? Did you inform them?"

"I…" the druid hesitated.

"What happened? Did they get caught or…?"

Emma shook her head, "No, they made it to the dungeon that much I know. I only stay in contact long enough to inform them of Morgana and check their progress."

Leon stared at her, eyebrow lifted as he noticed the uneasiness that shadowed the girl's face.

Under the knight's scrutiny, the druid relented, "I fear for what they discovered. Iseldir is not one to be shaken so easily when given a task and I felt him… falter. I hope for the best for Emrys, our salvation rests on his shoulders."

Leon wrenched the blade from the ground, his gaze held determination. "Merlin is the strongest and bravest man I know. If there was anyone I would, it would be Merlin." Though it was words to comfort the druid, the knight could not help but thing that he directed some of those words towards his own concerns for his friend. "He will destroy the anchor."

Emma met the knight's eyes before she nodded and waved her hand and removed the barrier

"Damn," Leon swore as he stepped beside Percival.

His fellow knight nodded in agreement, having overheard the discussion, as he glanced up at their winged allies, "At least the dragons are on our side."

Since the start of the battle, Kilgharrah had managed to kill about a sixth of the chimeras present. They were durable creatures, able to take a beating most mortals would lack the proper defense to survive. Even the gutted and mutilated ones dragged themselves back onto their paws and continued as though they were unable to feel the pain of their wounds. That was what made chimeras frightening, their powerful jaws, venom, and claws promised death while the creatures themselves took far too much effort to stop, let alone kill. Kilgharrah knew his best chance was to stay out of reach and rely on speed to swoop in and out from amongst them.

After his and Aithusa's initial attack left the creatures in disarray, the chimeras were in a confused mess, snapping furiously at empty air where they last saw the dragons. With a few more attacks, however, the chimeras regrouped and began to adapt and coordinate their attacks; they pushed down against the ground with their powerful rear legs every time the Great Dragon flew close and latched onto his armored skin. Though Kilgharrah bested them in strength, the chimeras had him beat in numbers for every group of chimeras that leapt up, one or two of them managed to dig beneath the scales. Such injuries would not otherwise affect the dragon but as the small wounds accumulated the Kilgharrah felt his already tired body ache.

Aithusa managed to stay relatively safe from them, mostly since she was the smaller of the two dragons and therefore was dealt the least amount of damage. Few chimeras focused on her for her small body allowed her not only the speed but also the agility to avoid their attack. She grabbed ahold of one and tore into the sky, the chimera screaming in protest as it tried to squirm from the dragon's claws. Aithusa allowed the creature to squirm away, and watched as its twisted body fell to the ground and slammed into anther chimera knocking them both out.

The dragon gave a toothy grin before she turned her attention to another chimera. Kilgharrah, seeing it from the sky, rolled his eyes at his younger kin and drew his wings in once more. His eyes narrowed at the group of six chimeras that looked up to the dragon with a snarl. Kilgharrah extended his talons towards the chimera as he drew clos, ready to tear them to shreds the same as the others. His claws were but a hairsbreadth away when suddenly a sharp pain bloomed from one of his wings.

Kilgharrah gave a roar and twisted his body to shake off whatever clung to his wing. Then pain lanced from his other wings and the added weight that accompanied the pain off balanced the dragon and caused him to crash heavily into the ground. The chimeras weren't as dumb of beasts as many were led to believe for they had prepared an attack plan of their own against their bigger foe. Rather than swipe at the dragon's armored skin as he attacked them, a few broke off into groups and waited for an ideal opportunity to target the delicate skin that encased his wings. When the dragon had swooped towards them, two chimeras lunged onto the wings and pierced through the thin membrane with their fangs.

Grounded, the Great Dragon snarled out against the chimeras that began to congregate around him, hissing and snapping their jaw. In an attempt to drive them away, Kilgharrah released fire from his maw at any that dared go close; but the dragon could not keep his inferno for long. His fire was cut off as he gave another roar in pain when the other two chimeras that had latched onto his wings began to lift themselves from where they landed and tore into his hide as they trampled his defenseless wings. Others, not in range of the fire, also dug their claws mercilessly under the scales, ripping at every exposed skin of the dragon. He tried desperately to swipe the chimeras off him and squirm away from the creatures; his body was being torn apart and the dragon's mind was in a daze by the pain that increased tenfold while more and more chimeras rushed at him. From all around, they shredded more of his flesh and the snakes that wriggled from their tails struck the exposed flesh the creatures claws reamed open.

Leon watched in horror from where he stood. The knight had never thought anything could compare to that of the dragon's might yet that had not stop Morgana's creatures. He pushed another soldier off and turned to Percival. However, before the knight could ask his brother in arms for an idea on what they could do to help the dragon, Aithusa noticed her kin's descent and pinned position on the ground.

"Kilgharrah!" Aithusa shouted, fear for her elder colored her shout. The white dragon turned away from her own prey and glided next to Kilgharrah. She wasted no time in ripping into the creatures that swarmed the Great Dragon, her own dagger-like teeth tore more viciously at the chimeras. Fueled by adrenaline, she managed to kill those few chimeras that were unfortunate to be the closest to her. When more chimeras fell before the ferocity of the white dragon's attack, it freed the elder dragon enough to allow him to fight back and begin to shake the rest of the monsters off him.

With the massive dragon nearly freed, one of the creatures turned on the smaller dragon, going straight for the throat. Aithusa reared back, away from the creature, and fell to the ground. She tried to claw the chimera off but the creature held on tight, teeth dug into her throat and placed pressure on her airway. The other chimeras saw an opportunity to be rid of the dragon also turned against the younger prey. Aithusa scrabbled away as this time she was the one being slashed, her roar stuck in her throat as the chimera tightened its grip on her airway. Though she was not able to express her pain, Kher proximity to Kilgharrah allowed him to know the dangers she faced. With great effort, Kilgharrah ripped the few chimeras off and turned his great head towards his kin.

"Aithusa," Kilgharrah warned before he released his fire from his belly. The flames engulfed the white dragon, catching the chimeras' fur aflame while it licked harmlessly against the dragon's scales. Dragons were creatures of flight and flames; unlike most creatures, the fire element would prove harmless to them. The chimeras shrieked as the fire burned hotter than before, for they were much closer to the source. They tried to distinguish the flames from their fur, releasing their hold of the dragon in favor of rolling on the ground to snuff out the flames. Aithusa stood, shaken, from the ground as the blood dripped from her wounds that matched that of the ones that riddled Kilgharrah's body.

"Young one, are you okay?" Kilgharrah called out, concern.

"I-I'm okay, you?" Aithusa answered.

Kilgharrah nodded his head, "Thanks to you. Come, young one, we must continue for the battle has not yet been won."

Kilgharrah spread his wings and pushed his legs off the ground. With effort, his wings pumped and lifted him into the air, eager to continue his attack against the chimeras though cautious of the intelligence these monsters seemed to possess.

Aithusa felt exhausted. The pain from the wounds she just acquired that flared through her body were a new and unwanted experience. Her naivety with battle and the wounds it promised left her unprepared to handle such an attack and fear failure began to consume her mind. Aithusa shook the thoughts from her mind for she had already promised to do what she could to help her Dragonlord to redeem herself from her betrayal, for saving the witch.

Aithusa sprang to the sky and began to angle herself for the next attack even as her wings ached and pain dulled her senses. She must learn from Kilgharrah's example and swallow her pain; she was of no use otherwise. She felt unsteadied in the air, no longer held the agility she had at the beginning due to the agony that radiated from her body, burned through her veins, and halted the full range of motion her wings had been capable to keep from jostling her wounds too much. Distantly the dragon wondered when the anchor would be destroyed for time was running out and soon neither dragon would be able to hold back the creatures.

* * *

"Elyan will you just stay down," Gwen ordered, exasperated as the knight had once again attempted to leave the tent, gasping in pain from the stab wound.

"I need to go back," Elyan sighed as his sister pushed him back down. She turned back to her previous patient laid stretched out next to the knight. He was one of the many unfortunate to have been caught unawares by a chimera.

"You will be of no use to them like that," Gwen retorted.

"I will be of more use than right now, laying here."

"And what? Bleed over all your enemies?"

"I can't just sit here and do nothing."

"Yes you can."

"You're impossible," groaned Elyan, bringing out a small smile from Gwen as it reminded her back when they were children.

The man Gwen was working gave incoherent mutters after the Queen had forced a sleeping draught on him. His wounds were painful and many, it was best he was treated unconscious lest he struggled as she cleaned and sewed the wounds. An hour ago, Gaius had been called to the northern tent where several men had to be treated for poison from snakebites. There were few men wounded by chimeras in the central tent, especially when the dragons were mostly defending the eastern front. Aside from Helena who had the southern tents covered, Gaius was the only other physician with the knowledge to treat the venomous bites.

Hunith was still with Gwen, grinding herbs and mixing ingredients together to keep up with the demands for more salves and potions. She eventually had to tie cloths around her own hand to ease the soreness and pressure caused by the constant use of the pestle and mortar. Burns marred her skin as well, for when she rushed around the pots in the campfire outside, cooking the mixtures into a viable potion. The woman worked steadily, relying on her limited knowledge she had attained over the years in Ealdor and the quick lessons from Gaius. Eventually, most of the remedies became second nature as she produced more for the helpers.

"Says the one who wants to fight when he could barely stand," Gwen jibed causing Elyan to give another groan.

It was as Gwen was finishing the last of the stitches when screams, far closer than the battlefield was, echoed through the forest causing Gwen to still her hand. She met her brother eyes and found her concern reflected back at her.

"Milady!" a druid gasped as he entered the tent. His young face was red with exertion and drenched in sweat. The druid, Samuel, had been assigned to stay close to the Queen and ensure she was safe as a request from Arthur, hesitant to leave his Queen behind so close to battle. Samuel had travelled between the camps and helped whenever he could while keeping an eye for trouble.

"What's going on, Samuel?" Gwen asked.

"Chimeras," he replied, "managed to sneak into the camp. There are three of them making their way here. My Queen, you must evacuate with anyone able to walk further into the forest while we take care of them."

"How close are they," Hunith asked as she approached the two. Around her, the other in the tent continued working though they kept an ear on the druid's next words.

"They already worked their way through the southern camp; it seems they're making a straight line here. We suspect they might be after you, your Highness," worried Samuel as he looked towards Gwen.

"Then we must get you out of here," Hunith added.

"I can't just leave, there are people who still need to be treated," exclaimed Gwen.

"You will be of no use to them dead, Gwen," Elyan repeated Gwen's earlier words back at her.

Gwen glared at her brother. The screams that echoed through the woods started again, closer than before. Elyan began to get up again, returning a glare towards Gwen when she made to stop him. The ex-servant sighed and began to help her brother to his feet, and though he was unsteady, Elyan wrapped his arm across his side and wit his other picked up the blade that Percival had left beneath his cot.

"Let's go before they get any closer," Elyan said.

"What about the others here," Gwen asked as she glanced around the tent. The few people who worked beside her watched her with worried looks while they continued caring for their patients. They overheard the conversion and feared the danger that lurked outside.

"If we're right that the chimeras are after you," Samuel said gently, "then when you leave, they will have no reason to enter this tent and attack these people."

Gwen bit her lip but gave a nod. She turned to Elyan, "You need to stay here."

"No."

"Elyan, you're in no shape to fight let alone chimeras," argued Gwen.

"I said no. I'm not allowing my sister to go out there without me."

"And you think I want to see you killed?" Gwen asked incredulously.

"I am-"

"Stop it you two," scolded Hunith, "there is no time."

"Hunith is correct," said the druid, "we must get you out milady."

"I will stay here and watch the injured," Hunith said, "please get to safety, Gwen."

Gwen clenched her hands but nodded before she followed the druid towards the exit. She gave one last worried look to Hunith, a glare to her brother, before following Samuel out of the tent; behind her followed Elyan, stumbling slightly as he grunted through the pain but remained standing, sword held at ready. It was when they first stepped out, however, that they heard the screams at their closest.

Standing just feet away from them, stood three blood-drenched chimeras as they ripped apart their next victim, a young woman who had accompanied her brother to the battle. The tent in which she chose to wait for her brother return lay collapsed behind them after chimeras dragged the girl out. It mattered not that the girl was innocent for she, in her tent, were in the way of the creatures' goals. With blood still dripping from their lips, the felines looked up from the corpse, their eyes zeroing on the Queen.

They stepped towards Gwen, ignoring the body on the ground beneath them, their muscles tensed and coiled while a low growl emanated from their throat. Samuel pushed Gwen behind him, hands raised as he matched the chimeras glare. Elyan also stepped forward and stood beside the druid; he dropped into a defensive stance even as his breath came out in pants. Gwen clenched Elyan's arm, worried that her brother would attempt to go against the creatures of magic.

"Gwen, go," Elyan muttered to his sister.

"No," Gwen murmured back, defiant.

"My Queen, you are in danger, it is best you leave," Samuel agreed with the knight.

The Queen glanced around her a spotted a sword that lay outside the tent, a weapon that was most likely left behind by a soldier brought back from the battlefield. With stubbornness that none but a Pendragon could possess, even if in name only, Gwen grabbed ahold of the blade and joined Elyan's side. With familiarity born from her time spent in drills back in Nemeth, she mimicked her brother's stance, prepared for the onslaught.

"Gwen," Elyan said, annoyed.

"Elyan," Gwen matched his tone.

" **Scildan**!" shouted Samuel when the chimeras launched themselves at the group. They crashed into the barrier the druid had formed, forcing a grunt from the druid, and then circled around the group. They eyed the shield that now encased their target and snarled in anger when they could spot no obvious weakness.

"I can't hold this barrier for long," Samuel panted, his voice strained, "I don't suppose I could convince you to leave?"

"Not at all," Gwen replied as she brandished her weapon.

Elyan sighed, "Always so stubborn." He too raised his weapon and nodded to the druid.

"Get ready," warned the druid as he eyed the chimeras. They were not the biggest he seen under Morgana's command, thank the gods for that, but neither were they smallest. It was difficult as it was to kill just one but now they must face three. He would be surprised if they had made it out of this encounter alive. If need be, he would force the Queen from here but first he wanted to try defeating the chimeras; even if there was a spell that could do that it would cost too much energy to perform and the druid wanted to save as much energy as possible to be able to force the Queen if necessary.

Once the siblings gave a nod, the druid dropped his shield, leaving the group exposed to the chimeras. The creatures did not hesitate for they pounced on the opportunity, synchronized in one fluid motion, towards their prey, each of the three singled out a single human for themselves, the bigger of the two chimeras targeting the druid and knight. They wanted to keep the two distracted while the third chimera went for the kill to end it quickly. Seconds before they reached them, close enough for Gwen to flinch slightly at the proximity, the druid shouted an incantation.

" **Áglæcan,** **adúnfielaþ! Béoþ slæpan in** **emnete!** "

Suddenly, mid-lunge, the chimeras fell with a loud bang to the ground, leaving them dazed while they lay sprawled across the ground before the three humans. Without hesitation, the three initiated their own attack while the chimeras were defenseless against the ground. Gwen and Elyan lunged forward, slashing down on the exposed flesh of their soft bellies for though their fur was thick, accentuated with magical properties, and therefore difficult to pierce through normal means, the skin of their underbellies were soft to the blade's bite.

Gwen had managed to slash a gash across the belly of the chimera before her while Elyan stumbled slightly, due in part from the strain he had put on his wound, but managed to land the point of his sword deep under one of the creature's hind legs, slashing a gash from the paw to inside its haunch. While the siblings attacked, Samuel created a fireball in his palm, which he sent straight at the chimera in front of him. The fire burst across the chimera's body causing it to scream and writhe across the ground. He fed more magic into the fire, burning the creature further.

Once they withdrew away from the creatures, the druid released his spell and casted the barrier around them again. Together they watched as two of the chimeras lifted themselves from the ground, bleeding from sword-inflicted wounds while the other laid still, panting, as smoke rose from its body bringing the smell of burnt fur to the air. One snarled and snapped at the burnt one, urging it back to its feet; once they were all on their feet, the chimeras began to circle around in a semicircle, eying the new threat rather than the hapless prey they at first perceived. Burnt and blackened, the chimera huffed to the other two. Strange hisses and grunts was the response from the limp one as it observed the blood the spilled from the belly of the third.

As Samuel watched, uneasiness bloomed from his stomach, an uneasiness that he knew also consumed his two companions as they too eyed the chimeras. These creatures seemed to be showing intelligence the druid had previously put beyond them; it appeared that they too underestimated the chimeras. If their resilience was what made it difficult to defeat these creatures of magic, he could not help but worry what a clever mind could do with such strengths. The first attack was the easiest to fend off; it was the next that worried the druid. Another nod from the siblings and the druid once more released his barrier, not surprised when the chimeras chose not to immediately attack. The two groups stood at a standstill, neither sure at how to proceed.

What was seconds felt like hours as they waited, unsure of their next move when, unexpectedly, the burnt chimera, who had circled close to the tent behind them, lunged towards the infirmary. Its claws tore through the walls; the fabric came apart with ease. From inside, the Queen and her companions hear screams of surprise, successfully distracting Samuel as he turned his attention towards the burnt chimera.

" **Hleap on bæc**!" he shouted, tossing the chimera away from the tent, at the same moment another one lunged towards the druid's unprotected back and the limp chimera went for Elyan. The chimera knocked the knight onto the ground, its paws slammed into the stab wound and caused the knight to gasp out in pain. Once it ensured the knight would not be getting up immediately, the chimera then pounced onto the Queen, who attempted to help the druid, pinning her against the ground.

Gwen looked up and found herself face to face with the creature's snout, its rancid breath blew across her face and made her gag while its teeth gleamed in excitement for her blood. The fur of its snout was darkened in dried blood while its yellowed eyes narrowed on her throat. She could see the eagerness in those jaws, in those eyes, as it descended closer to her. It did not take long for it to dominate hey eyesight, blinding her from the others.

Distantly, Gwen heard Samuel cry of pain and her brother's fear-filled shouts and struggles to stop the chimera from tearing her apart. The Queen never felt as calm as she had at that moment, staring into the jaws of death for she knew there was nothing she could do to stop the chimera as it lowered its fangs closer around her throat. Her only regret was of the pain her death would bring about to her friends and loved ones.

Queen Guinevere's last thoughts were on her husband; Arthur and his golden hair and bright, blue eyes that offered nothing but kindness and love. With a sigh, Gwen closed her eyes and felt as the chimera's teeth sliced into her skin.

* * *

Arthur heard Gwaine next to him as the knight took a sharp intake of breath as they looked in the contents of the cell. The King knew that the servant would not be in the best condition, not when Morgana was involved, but he was unprepared for this. Really, how could anyone prepare for this? With reluctant, unsure steps, as if Arthur could not quite believe what he was seeing, he entered the room. He drew closer to the center as if in a trance while, behind him, Gwaine wanted to rush past the King; however, the knight was stopped from moving any further as Iseldir raised his hand and followed the King with his eyes.

Arthur paid the two no mind, his field of vision narrowed to a single focal point. Merlin, whose legs were sprawled on the ground with arms hung over his head, placed the warlock in an odd sitting position. His tunic, or what remained of it, hung off his thin frame in tatters as he slumped slightly towards the grounds. There was a long slice on the thin fabric that ran from the collar to the bottom hem on the center of the tunic; it exposed the emaciated chest beneath.

The bone that poked through the man's skin would have horrified the King if his attention was not drawn the flesh itself. The man's discolored torso was marred in a multitude of bruises, each at various stages of healing. At the center was the cruel parody of the Pendragon crests. The golden dragon, worn with pride among the Knights of Camelot, was etched into Merlin's skin with a sickening care for details. Its long exposure to the grime and dirt of the cell had caused the wound to fester with sickly yellow pus that wept from various sections of the dragon. It was an atrocious reminder of the servant's ties to Camelot, one that mocked Merlin's pride and loyalty towards the crown and its King. It made Arthur sick. Disgusted that, for his loyalty, Merlin had been branded like a common animal. It made him think of how far the witch had fallen that allowed her to inflict such pain without remorse.

Behind him, Iseldir wandered to the table that stood against the wall. The druids traced his fingers against the blood-caked tools found there, shuddering as his hand touched one particularly bloodied dagger. The dark magic oozed from its wicked edges and tainted his magic. Meanwhile Gwaine stood still, glaring at the table as he remembered the last time he had been in the cell, back when he was nothing but a slave for Morgana's amusement, helpless to stop the torment happening before his eyes. The screech that accompanied a sword drawn from its sheath shifted Gwaine's attention back to the King.

Arthur felt anger mold his face into a snarl when he noticed Merlin's mangled shoulders, one that gave evidence that the position he was bound in served more than restrain the servant. With a quick swipe, Arthur cut the ropes that held the servant aloft causing Merlin's body to slump all the way to the ground. With far more gentleness than he believed to have possessed, Arthur picked Merlin's body up and straighten him out so that he laid flat against the stone floor. Anxiety seemed to be at its highest as Arthur noted the wide, dulled eyes held nothing of the life the warlock had expressed. He often heard of how the eyes were a window to the soul yet Merlin's seemed to lack any. Frantic, his fingers scrabbled at the servant's neck, hoping to find a pulse that disproved all that the imprisoned men had told him of the servant's death.

There. It was there.

Relief flooded his body and he released the breath he held since cutting his friend from the ropes. Merlin's heartbeat was erratic, but still there. He was still alive. The King's eyes drifted down and noted the rise and fall of the warlock's chest; still alive, but in bad condition.

"Merlin?" Arthur softly called, waiting for a response from the warlock. Merlin blinked but otherwise did not move.

"Merlin?" Still nothing.

"She was relentless before…" Arthur heard Gwaine say in a quiet voice. The hopelessness of his knight's voice matched the feeling Arthur had as he examined Merlin before him. The earlier excitement that the servant's survival squashed by the returning despair.

Upon closer examination, Arthur looked on with dismay as his hand brushed the sweat-drenched, greasy hair from the servant's forehead. Brief contact with the clammy skin of his flushed face revealed to Arthur that fever had set into the man's body, most likely due to infection and weakened condition.

Foolishness seemed to run in the family was all Arthur thought as he absorbed the image of his best friend's mutilated body. Nearly a decade of servitude should be more than enough for Arthur to never doubt Merlin. The servant had shown him nothing but kindness and loyalty, though he had kept his secrets, and all he got in return was four months of torture while Arthur sat cozy in Nemeth debating on morality and trust. Those months Arthur thought only with spite, blinded by hurt, for the man before him. It was easy to judge a man when said man was not close to defend himself and easier still to forget the agony inflicted on others when it was out of sight.

"Sire," Iseldir strangled voice echoed from beside Arthur when the druid knelt down next him, his eye locked onto the servant's arm. There, fastened around the man's bicep, was an armlet of the deepest black Arthur had ever seen; the horror in which the druid stared infected him with more unease. Even without knowledge of magical artifacts, Arthur could tell that there was more to this armlet than just jewelry. Curious and with a need to remove it, Arthur extended his hand to the armlet, ready to tug it off when Iseldir's hand shot out and stopped him from removing it.

"Don't touch it," warned Iseldir. The druid extended his own hand and placed it on the armlet as he muttered, " **Béagwriða** **þín** **bealu grápe** **álynaþ.** "

His eyes glowed as he lifted the offending object off the warlock with a soft click then tossed it to the corner of the cell, as far as away as he could get it from the others. Merlin breathing deepened and evened out and the warlock blinked. Still, those eyes remained dead to the world around them.

Under Arthur's questioning look, Iseldir whispered, "If you had touched it, milord, you would have suffered some of its effects."

"And that is?" Gwaine asked with dread in his voice.

"All your insecurities, fears, and mistakes would be drawn out and used against the wearer. It was a form of psychological torture that even the High Priestess banned from use in light of its cruelty."

Arthur felt as if he could not swallow past the lump in his throat as he glanced at the catatonic state if his servant. Merlin's once expressive, blue eyes were dulled, empty of the twinkle they had once held as they stared up sightlessly at the ceiling. His stomach roiled as he realized the cause of such a state and wondered what it was the witch had forced the servant to see with that armlet. Gently, Arthur clasped the man's chin, turned his head towards him, and tried to catch his eyes.

"Merlin," Arthur called again, hoping for a small reaction now that the armlet was gone.

There was none, nothing in those eyes.

What Arthur was staring at was nothing more than the shell of the man he once knew. The damage done to him was great, too much for the servant to handle. Whether it was the armlet or the physical torture that caused the servant's current condition, it changed nothing on the guilt that crashed down on the King. There was no way to hide his guilty, his shame, away, not with its source laid bare for all to see.

Never mind that they needed Merlin's power to destroy the chimera. Never mind that it was the only salvation against Morgana's rampage. Never mind for even safety of the kingdom, for Camelot was nothing without this man to support her King. The only thing that rushed through Arthur was that his best friend was gone. What made Merlin _Merlin_ had been destroyed by the torment he had suffered; torment he suffered for Arthur.

He always told Merlin he was an idiot, perhaps it was just him projecting his own idiocy on the servant.

Gwaine knelt by Merlin. His eyes glistened with tears yet his face was twisted in hatred. With gesture to Arthur, they lifted the servant into a sitting position, careful to not jostle the various wounds and damaged shoulders. The two kept Merlin upright as Iseldir examined the damage and the chains that wrapped tightly against the servant's forearm.

"He needs to be treated as soon as possible," Iseldir muttered as he finished his examination. "He has a fever most likely due to the infection of this wound. His shoulders are destroyed; I doubt he would be able to properly use his arms again, even if we reset the joint and gave it time to heal."

"What about magic," Arthur asked, surprised that he did not hesitate to request the use of magic. Still the idea of his clumsy servant handicapped horrified Arthur.

"It would be a difficult, long process, but yes, magic can heal the damage done and restore his shoulders back to health," Iseldir replied, eyeing the King's reaction. Arthur nodded and gestured Iseldir to continue with his findings. He did not care about magic right now, all that matter was Merlin.

"These chains here may be an issue as well," Iseldir gestured towards the glint of silver that wound itself around the warlock's arm where it seemed to have branded itself into his skin. "We need to remove them else I cannot draw his magic from him without causing damage to both of us."

"I can assume that is what contains his magic?"

"Yes, Sire."

"Can you take it off?" Gwaine asked.

Iseldir's fingers brushed against the silver, "Maybe, but there seems to be runes etched here. If I know exactly how these bind him, I'll be able to tell you for sure. We can-"

Iseldir stopped and he tilted his head, as if trying to hear something far away. Arthur felt his face harden into suspicion as Iseldir's face blanched.

"What is it?"

"Morgana. One of the druids saw her leave the battlefield. I suspect she is on her way here"

"Damn," Gwaine cursed, "we need to go."

"Agreed, but where would be safe?" Iseldir asked.

"Nowhere," replied Arthur, frustrated. He glanced down at Merlin again then pushed him from his mind, putting full concentration on the task ahead. "Iseldir, what do we need to do for this draught to work?"

"We need to remove the chains for one thing," Iseldir said, "also, the enchantment won't work without Merlin's consent. He needs to be conscious."

Arthur felt his heart clench even more. Merlin did not appear to have awareness for his surroundings, not with those wide, sightless eyes. Not only do they need to use his magic but somehow rouse him from his stupor; it was an impossible task and Arthur doubt they would be able to do. For all Arthur knew, Merlin could forever remain in this comatose state. It seemed like a hopeless situation to the King.

It did not mean he would give up.

No, he would never give up. Merlin never gave up on Arthur during the times when the King found it hard to continue. Even at his darkest, when he was at his lowest point, Merlin managed to find a way to bring the King's spirits up and remind him of his responsibilities to Camelot. If that meant Arthur had to pull Merlin from the depth of his mind, Arthur would do it without complaint. Besides, it was such a small undertaking compared to all Merlin had done for him.

"We can take him to the Court Physician's chambers. There we can treat whatever wounds we can while you focus on the chains," Arthur decided as he motioned for Gwaine to help him pull Merlin from the ground. Careful to cause no more movement than necessary, Gwaine and Arthur each slung an arm over their shoulders while their arms clasped firmly around the servant's torso. They held him up as much as possible with their arms to prevent too much pressure on his shoulders. Once settled between them, with Merlin's head lolling to the side, Arthur nodded to Iseldir to take the lead.

Arthur thoughts were of the past. He remembered the sorcerers, angry, with promises of revenge, who constantly threatened his life and the lives of his loved one throughout every turn of his life. Then there was Morgana, beautiful, kind, yet easily twisted. She embraced her magic, her darkness, into her very being. When it came to sorcery, this was what Arthur had imagined. It was evil and twisted. It was the nightmare of every man, woman, and child. It tantalized its victims with powers, powers that corrupted the individual and destroyed any kindness they possessed.

That was the truth Arthur spent a lifetime believing. That was the truth Arthur rejected.

The monster that painted a sorcerer did not fit any of the people he met the past four months. He could not imagine Kayla blasting a town into piece or her daughter shredding the people apart, possessed by bloodlust that would eventually lead her against the Pendragons. There was no amount imagination that could give him the image of Iseldir looking to torture for sport. He could not even picture any of the other druids he encountered during his time in Nemeth looking at him with murderous eyes. And Merlin…

Merlin had a lifetime to succumb to the corruption of power. Hell, he was born with the so-called evil mingled with his blood, his very core. He held power many yearned for at the palm of his hand when he was just minutes old. He could tear down kingdoms if he wanted to; he could accomplish what many believe to be impossible. Still... never had Arthur seen the man be anything but good, anything but loyal. He fought for what he believed in, for what was right, until his last breath. He suffered for his beliefs, his morals; he never strayed from justice and right. Morgana had turned against everything within a few years while Merlin had _decades_ to turn to evil.

Arthur just could not imagine Merlin turning down the path Morgana traveled.

He felt it then, even more so than ever before. The guilt that weighed heavily in his heart; it savagely pushed the betrayal from his mind and consumed him. While he swore to protect his kingdom and his subjects, he stood aside and did nothing to help his friend. What had Merlin suffered here under Arthur's name? What had he suffered in the past for his loyalty?

Just how big was his debt to the warlock?

The group shuffled along as quickly as they could with the injured servant and Arthur was mindless as he followed the druid, relying on Gwaine to give verbal directions to the chambers. He knew what he must do. He knew what was necessary for everyone involved; he knew what his people must strive for and what he must set right to all those affected by his father's laws.

Arthur loved his father. He respected Uther for all the late King wanted to achieve for the kingdom. Uther had not always made poor choices. Even Arthur was still uneasy about magic after suffering years of threats by sorcerers. How could he not be scared of something he was thought since birth to distrust and fear? But Arthur knew what he must do. For the sake of all those who suffered. Even if his father disapproved this choice, he knew he must set the mistakes of the past right.

The laws of magic must be repealed.

The persecution of all who were talented in the arts of magic was wrong on multiple levels. It was not the magic that caused suffering but the consequences of the past. The Purge caused ripple through the kingdom that destroyed lives and influenced the populace as a whole. It would be difficult to convince the people of Camelot to let go of their prejudice but as King, Arthur knew he must fix the mistakes he and his father had done.

As they ascended through the dungeons, Arthur spoke again. His voice was soft but no less determined. A voice that commanded those around him and Arthur would possess for his entire life. It was the voice of the Once and Future King that gave unbroken promises.

"We will defeat Morgana."

Gwaine looked towards Arthur with fire that swirled in his eyes, part hatred and part determination. Morgana would pay for what she had done. The knight would hunt her to the ends of the world if he must to make sure she suffered for her crimes. He was just glad that Arthur removed that stick out of his arse and realized the sacrifice Merlin made for them.

"We will recapture Camelot."

Ahead of them, Iseldir straightened with newfound confidence. His previous insecurities dissipated as he allowed Arthur's resolve to wash through him. The coming battle would be difficult, but Iseldir knew that there was a chance for there was no stronger duo than that of the Once and Future King and Emrys. Even Emrys, as broken as he was, would claw his way back to the King's side.

It was where he belonged after all, to stand tall as equals with his king.

"And when Camelot is free, when Morgana has fallen, I promise you this, my friend. I promise that we will talk, of everything that has happened since your arrival to Camelot, so that I may repay all debts and fix all the wrongs against you. Even if it takes a life time, I promise you this."

Arthur knew that no matter how far they had fallen or how dark the times were, there was always hope. Hope, which its existence was proven when a quiet whisper, hoarse and strained, emanated from the man beside him; the man, battered and bruised, draped between two of his closest friends.

"I'll hold you to that promise, prat"


	13. Chapter 13

The effects of the armlet had placed too much strain on the warlock's mind. With the lengths of time Morgana forced him to suffer under its affects, it was more than he could handle and the torment only served to damage him further. He already retained hallucinations without its help; hallucinations that though not as corporeal as the one brought forth from wearing the armlet still wore down his mental defenses.

After Alison had paid him a visit, Morgana showed up, demanding for the identity of the person that had entered his cells without her permission. Her eyes held an insane touch and sparkled with her wild magic; those golden greens swiveled around the cell as if searching for the presence of a third. In a haze, Merlin vaguely wondered if she had thought to ask the guards posted at his cell but dismissed it quickly when he felt more than saw the madness that oozed from her being. The source for her insanity became apparent when she repeated her question again; this time she demanded if Emrys had once again broken into the citadel. She ranted, with fingers clutched desperately into the tangled mess of hair, about the mysterious sorcerer who mocked her. Emrys wanted nothing more but to show her how easily he could go in and out of the citadel without her knowledge.

Merlin only laughed in her face. If she lacked the common sense to ask her own guards then he lacked any sense of self-preservation he had left. He was no longer on the cusps of sanity but rather he immersed himself in the madness and used its lack of care to aid him against the witch. Insanity helped through the torture, the pain, but he held fast to the sliver of sanity he had left with hopes that it would be enough to pull him back from the madness. That little sliver of his mind wondered with despair if his twisted shield would lead him to follow the witch's wicked path.

When Morgana's response was to brandish the armlet that small part of him shrunk in fear; even the madness shirked from the bracelets effects. In the corner of the cell stood Will, his form transparent and outline blurred, with a sneer in place at the reaction Merlin displayed before the witch. He could already hear his whispers that named him coward. The ghostly form of his childhood friend continued to taunt him, his voice faint, about his failures, more reminders of just how worthless Merlin had been; all the while Morgana drew closer. The warlock was at lost what to do, move away from Will or the bracelet? In the end he shrunk from Morgana's approach for even insanity could not shield him from more of the armlet's influence. The illusion in the cell was nothing compared to what that bracelet could drag out.

Then that little sliver beckoned him further inward, its voice like a lullaby that lulled him into comfort. It called for the servant to withdraw, to pull away from this awful reality for a void that promised numbness from the corrupted world around him. The void had frightened him and, at first, he resisted. His resistance was born of the fear that he would be giving in, death disguised as safety. However, the second Morgana had clasped the armlet to his bicep, the second the faces of those he killed, Nimueh, Agravaine, Morgause, even Uther, Merlin began to relent. His grip on reality loosened and he allowed the call to lull him into the void until he felt nothing. The numbness swaddled him in darkness; it isolated him from the pain and blame. For the first time Merlin was without pain. There was only one word he could describe this beautiful experience; one that he had not felt in months.

Safe.

Or as safe as anyone who had gone catatonic before a witch eager to beat answers from him was. But as everything was in his life lately, safety was just another lie to keep him at ease. He needed all the lies he could get to keep him from completely giving into one of Morgana's requests. It was still difficult to shake the feeling that he had already given up in the dark corners of his mind.

Either way the darkness consumed him; he floated through its emptiness.

_Morgana paused. Her prey's unresponsive state confused and irritated her. No longer could she hear his wails as his regrets manifested into the ghosts of his past and haunted him. She approached the man, wary of the slumped form. He was hung low enough for his leg to support his body yet he slumped in the restraints, head hung from his neck. She removed the armlet all the while she peered into his face, still confused._

Merlin knew that Morgana would not be able to get information from him. Not like this.

_Morgana used magic, the servant's body arched from where it sat. His limbs tensed and hands twitched but his eyes, wide open, remained vacant and his jaw hung open, slack even as his body reacted to the pain. If it weren't for the seizure inducing magic she forced into his body, Morgana would believe he wasn't in pain._

The agony was just a shadow, a phantom pain that remained as a reminder to Merlin. No longer did it consume him the way it did in the waking world.

_Morgana continued to shout her questions. She forced more magic into him, her voice demanded for Emrys' identity, but the only noise from the servant's seizing body was his gasping breathes._

Merlin was freed from Morgana, if only for a short while.

 _Morgana returned the bracelet to his arm, snarling that he would die where he sat among his failures. She was done with him_.

Merlin could remain here forever.

The pain.

Gone.

The responsibilities.

Gone.

The regrets.

It was all gone; he had what he wanted the most, he had his rest.

If he wanted to, Merlin could slip away completely in this state.

No, not yet. Not when people needed him the most; he could feel it. The end was coming, how it would end he had no idea, but it was coming. For now, he would enjoy the comforts extended to him from the void.

_Merlin?_

A voice penetrated through his haven; sliced through every barrier his mind created between him and reality.

_Merlin?_

It reverberated through his mind in a way nothing else could; that thought alone sent shivers through Merlin's entire being. In its wake, more voices, as familiar as the first, entered his subconscious, though those words were indistinguishable. Those voices did not carry the same importance the first had.

_Merlin._

That voice was more than familiar. That voice defined Merlin's very existence. It held friendship and loyalty to n extant that no other could offer him. It defined his destiny. Everything he had done and everything he would do was for the man behind that voices.

_What about magic?_

Yes, even his magic served that man. Merlin was nothing but a vessel for his power, ready to direct his talents under the whims of this one single man. He would do anything for the man; anything to accomplish that prophecy for his best friend and fulfill the dream that took the form of a golden era across Albion.

 _I can assume that is what contains his magic_.

His magic roiled. It was contained, yes, but it itched for freedom, released from the prison of its master body; the flesh limited its potential. It wanted nothing more than to be of use, whether it was to smite an enemy or finish a chore. It was more, much more, than just the petty excuse of magic the average sorcerers possessed

_What is it?_

It was magic in its truest forms, the purest that had ever been seen. Merlin could laugh at the silly parlor tricks most sorcerers performed to kill the King. His magic was everything to him, his essence. Without it, he would be a shell. It was already painful ignore it pleas, side with the chains, and hold it back, even if it was for the best.

_Nowhere. Iseldir what do we need to do for this draught to work?_

So that was the identity of one of the other voices, Iseldir, the kind druid chieftain, who offered nothing but wisdom during all his short interactions with Merlin. The servant felt comforted by his presence. He was one of many Merlin had wished to show to his King as proof that there was goodness in magic. One of the many who would benefit from fairer laws for magic; he would, in turn, be there to aid the kingdom at its darkest of times.

_We can take him to the Court Physician's chamber. There we can treat whatever wounds we can while you focus on the chains._

Home, they wanted to take him home. Oh how Merlin ached to be back in those chambers. To sleep on his bed among his cluttered room. To curl around his spell book, eyes glowing gold and lighting the room in ways candle could not. To study a spell until dawn's light colored the sky and the sun chased the away the moon and the stars. To expand his knowledge on the magic that had become his very core. To sup with his mentor and laugh away the events a particular day had brought, whether it was another threat to the crown or playful pranks between the knights.

The wall he erected around his mind began to crumble before the army of memories the voice led through him.

_We will defeat Morgana._

Of course. Morgana must be stopped. She must pay for her crimes against Albion and for the darkness she unleashed upon Camelot. She would pay for the pain she caused to Merlin, for his useless body and protesting magic. For his dead mother and the regrets brought fresh in his mind by the darkest of the magical arts.

The imagined stonework fell to pieces, its rubble made itself present in the void.

_We will recapture Camelot._

And returned her to its rightful ruler, King Arthur, the Once and Future King, who was born to lead his people into peace and unite all of Albion. Camelot and King Arthur, one could not be without the other.

Light disrupted the darkness around him. Pain began to radiate through him again, its influence growing with every beam of light that shot through the cracks.

_And when Camelot is free, when Morgana has fallen. I promise you this, my friend. I promise that we will talk, of everything that has happened since your arrival to Camelot, so that I may repay all debts and fix all wrongs against you. Even if it takes a lifetime, I promise you this._

Debts and wrongs? Everything he had done since moving to Camelot? That tale would take a lifetime to tell properly, to give justice of all the things he had done. Every accomplishment and every failure, Merlin would leave none out if that were what his King wished. Arthur may believe that he owed much to him but Merlin knew that there was more to the servant than the King knew, Merlin had that to thank the armlet for showing him.

Merlin would tell Arthur anything, not for reward for his services but for Arthur to judge him fairly with full knowledge of Merlin's action. If his King wished to see his actions as debts to repay and wrongs to fix, so be it. That was Arthur, and Arthur _alone_ to decide.

The walls finally fell away and his conscious mind slammed back into reality. Agony rose through his body and crushed his fragile mind. With all the emotions, all the thoughts that spiraled around him Merlin reacted without thought. Coerced by everything he had done and heard, everything that he knew, Merlin responded the only way he could.

"I'll hold you to that promise, prat."

* * *

Arthur looked to his side in surprise. He did not expect the servant to respond to his declaration though he was glad to hear the man speak. His eyes latched onto the servant's face, noting that though they were a far cry from the bright, cheerful blues that were of norm, the servant's eyes were no longer vacant. Though dulled, the eyes still held the intelligence that Arthur had not moments ago longed to see in his friend's face.

"Merlin," sighed Arthur, unable to say more as relief crashed down on him. At least they were not too late.

Merlin's eyes rolled around, soaking up the new environment. The muscles of his jaws tightened and his body tensed when his eyes swept between the two people who held him up. Suspicion entered that gaze followed by dread and fear, though Arthur could not guess as to why Merlin felt that towards them. That was until the servant spoke again.

His head lolled back down against his chest as he muttered, "They're not real, Merlin, just ignore them."

"Merlin," Arthur said though paused, unsure in what to say after he got the man's attention, but was saved by Iseldir when he, ahead of them, beckoned them to pause. Quickly, they ducked into the nearest door, which led to an empty guest room, and waited with bated breaths as they watched a small group of soldiers run down the hall. It was only when the echoes of their footsteps faded away that they finally left and continued on their way. As much as Arthur wanted to speak to his friend, he decided to wait until they got to the relative safety of Gaius' chambers, away from sight, hearing, and the risks of capture.

Within a few tense minutes of sneaking through the halls, they had arrived at the rooms. They had ran into several more groups of soldiers and sorcerers, and one frightening moment in which the Blood Guard approached the door they stood behind too closely, but the combination of Iseldir's attentiveness and the Camelot King and knight's knowledge of the castle, they managed to remain hidden. Iseldir whispered a quick incantation to unlock the door and the rest scurried into the room. Iseldir strode to the cabinets and began collecting herbs, reading the salves necessary to help Merlin. Gwaine and Arthur hurried to the cot at the center of the room and laid Merlin down carefully. Even though they tried not to aggravate the wounds, a moan still escaped Merlin's lips as they arranged him on the bed.

Once situated, Arthur called out again, "Merlin?"

The man had kept his eyes close throughout most of the journey through the halls though the occasional gasps of pain escaped his mouth when they moved too quickly into hiding. At the sound of his voice, Merlin tensed again, as if prepared for an attack. He continued his earlier mutterings, his voice more desperate than before as he tried to ignore his friends' presence.

"Mate, come on," Gwaine said in his rather pitiful attempt at cheer, "if we weren't real then who dragged your rear end over here."

In response, Merlin laughed, a sound that sent a chill down Arthur's spine. He spat, his voice full with venom, "You just had to go and make it stronger didn't you, Morgana? What's next, my parents stabbing me? Or how about my best friends tearing me to shreds."

"Merlin," Arthur whispered, his voice more gentle than he thought capable, "Morgana isn't here. You're not in the dungeons anymore."

"Go away, please," Merlin moaned, his body trembled.

"Merlin, you idiot," Arthur tried again, his voice more firm, "that is not how you speak to your King."

Merlin flinched, "You are not my King. You are but an illusion brought on by Morgana's magic."

"Tell me then, _Mer_ lin, if this is an illusion to you,"" Arthur argued as he reached and grabbed ahold of the servant's arms and wrenched him upright into a sitting position. Merlin gasped as pain laced through his arm from the movement. Beside him, Gwaine protested but at Arthur's glare, he silenced his objections into grumbles and chose to help keep the servant upright and relieve any unnecessary strain the King put on the servant.

With his full face in view, Arthur noted the tired, pallid face lined with pain. He felt guilt for causing the servant more pain but brushed it aside; he needed Merlin out of whatever delusion trapped him. With a gentle shake, Arthur commanded, "Look at me Merlin and tell me what you see is fake."

Merlin shook his head, still not wanting to believe, to hope, that he was no longer in the dungeons. It took another shake before the warlock's eyes fluttered open, his eyes adjusted and focused on the figures standing before him. His blue eyes widened and with a strangled whisper, full of uncertainty and fear, he said, "A-Arthur?"

"Yes, dollop head," Arthur sighed, "and if you stop being a girl you will realize how much of an idiot you are being right now."

"H-how are you he-here?" Merlin said, his trembling turned into shaking.

"Why does it matter? We're here to get you out."

"It matters Arthur. Morgana wants your head on a stake; I'll want to know if she knows where to find it"

Arthur felt a pang in his chest and found it hard to swallow past the lump in his throat. Even battered, bruised, and confused, Merlin still worried for the King. Arthur had known many men who would give their life to Arthur, who pride themselves in their loyalty to the crown. They all paled in comparison to Merlin. Never before had Arthur seen such loyalty, loyalty that even when beaten, tortured, and brought to the brink of death, it still burned strongly through the warlock. The shame he felt before was nothing like the shame he felt now seeing the servant he doubted for months worry for him as he had always done.

"We got an army currently distracting her," Arthur dismissed, not bothering to mention what Iseldir had last heard of the witch's location. The last thing they needed was to instigate Merlin into action when the man could barely sit up.

Merlin shook his head, "She would know you got me out. She has those cells enchanted."

"Yes but I can't leave you here," Arthur said, "no one deserve this, least of all you."

Tears welled up in Merlin's eyes and silently traveled down his grime-covered cheeks. He was not sure how much Arthur realized of the warlock's condition, of how Merlin doubted the reality and believed his mind was playing tricks on him. It was not beyond the armlet's capabilities to create a fictional scenario of safety among friends if it was to rip it away from him. It had been a long time since he had to deal with Morgana and her followers and though he had spotted Gwaine and Percival occasionally before he freed them, the long weeks between solitude and the witch's visit had carved deep scars into his mind.

Then the illusions started, produced by an armlet that used the images of his loved ones to torment him beyond anything Morgana had done. Even without the previous months torture, Merlin wouldn't have been able to handle the stress, but his battered state made him even more susceptible to the pain. His mutterings did nothing to comfort him; he knew they were not real, but his senses prevented him from accepting such truths. He was going mad; he had gone mad.

His body shook harder and Merlin bit his lip both in pain and to hold back the rising emotions. Happiness and grief consumed him for what little of him that remained was free at last. He mourned for what he had lost at the hand of Morgana, for he had lost much from the past months. As he looked towards Arthur, his King and best friend, through his blurry eyes, Merlin knew that he would always see the accusing eyes that the illusions had adopted. The eyes that blamed him for all that had happened to Camelot. The experience forever changed him, and that was what Merlin feared the most.

He did not matter. All that matter was Camelot; why a King would worry over his worthless servant was beyond Merlin. He was just a servant and as such, he was to serve his master in whatever he needed. Merlin knew his worth, he knew that he was the useless excuse of a servant Arthur had always called him but that would not stop the warlock from giving his best effort to the King.

Merlin felt the arrogance he held in the past, before Morgana showed him just where he stood. He would prove to his King how much of an asset he really was, even if the servant could not believe it. His body, mind, and magic served Arthur's wishes, and Merlin would be damned if he could not fulfill his destiny.

No matter how worthless he was, Merlin would give his last to ensuring Morgana was gone from Camelot. After that, Arthur may do as he wished to Merlin; he would accept any punishment. If Arthur told him to leave Camelot, he would ask which direction, and if he ordered him to the pyre, Merlin would light it himself. For what good is a servant who did not obey his master.

"Merlin…" Arthur hesitated, "we also need your help."

"Of course," Merlin forced a smile. Looks like worthless people were still needed.

"Morgana and the chimeras are too strong for us or our forces to handle. We need to destroy the anchor that keeps them within our world and rid ourselves of Morgana."

"I won't be of much use to you then, I can barely sit up," Merlin mumbled, staring pointedly at the arms that kept him upright.

"Well you won't need to be fighting only to drink a potion."

"Potion? What for?"

"You ask what potion when you look like death warmed over," Gwaine muttered with a touch of sarcasm. "Gods forbid if it was for anything beneficial."

Arthur ignored him and continued, "One that would allow another to borrow your magic momentarily."

Merlin looked away, tense, "Are you not mad about the magic?"

"I-"

"Don't lie to me," Merlin said, voice hard.

"Shut up and let me finish," Arthur snapped. "I was mad and I still am."

"Then why are you asking me to do this?"

"Because I want to understand," Arthur murmured. Merlin looked back in surprise as he watch Arthur squirm uncomfortably, gathering the strength to open up to who he saw as his best friend. Arthur had months to sort through his thoughts, it was about time he put words to it. "When I found out you had magic, my first reaction was anger. After everything that happened with sorcery, after Morgana, can you blame me for feeling anything but betrayed? I knew Morgana for years, I _grew_ up with her and that didn't stop her from turning against her friends and family. She betrayed us for her magic."

"Magic did not turn Morgana into a traitor," Merlin snapped

"No it, did not, but neither did it help," Arthur sighed. "I learned many things these past months in Nemeth, including some on you and the identity of Emrys."

Merlin flinched.

"I cannot promise you that I have no fear of magic or that I don't feel anger but I want to try. I learned that the laws of magic are unfair and I hope to fix that. I want to create and fair and just kingdom for all under my care, even those who possess magic as long as they are not a threat."

"As it should be," Merlin whispered. "Punishment should be given on the actions and not the means."

"Then we can change it, together."

"Emrys," Iseldir said as he approached with an armful of bandages and medicine. Gwaine glanced at the druid while Merlin still searched Arthur's face, trying to discern if he was being honest before turning to the druid.

"Iseldir," Merlin responded with a small nod. "You are helping Camelot now?"

"Yes. King Arthur approached us in peace and a need of help. We have provided a solution but it requires your gift."

"My magic?" Merlin asked. His magic had settled down since he had retreated into himself but now it stirred, waiting for its freedom. It was like a slumbering beast during its final days of hibernation, its body uncurling and wakening to the new season, ready to explore it surrounding and escape the cave that it had been encased in for weeks. The magic was sluggish but below the surface was an expanse of power that laid waiting to burst through the weak little bounds that kept it in line.

"I brought a draught that would allow me to use the power you drew into yourself. It will allow me to use your strength without needing you to be in battle, only awake."

"No," Merlin deadpanned.

"What?" Arthur asked, incredulous.

"I can't allow Iseldir to do this," Merlin continued, his blue eyes piercing Arthur's, "My magic has been restricted for four months, the moment these chains are removed, "he nodded to his arm, "it will be near impossible to control, let alone Iseldir to handle."

"But we need it. You are the only one powerful enough to destroy the anchor that holds the chimeras into our world. Only a sorcerer more or of equal power can destroy it. If we don't rid the castle of the anchor we might as well condemn our entire armies to death."

"I didn't say we can't destroy the anchor, just I won't allow Iseldir to do it."

"Then how do you suppose we do it?" Arthur said as ran his hand through his hair.

"I'll do it."

"That's insane, Merlin," Gwaine pointed out.

"Maybe so, but I still want to try."

"Emrys, even knowing the incantation, the enchantment will be difficult to perform without practice. It is best if you allow me to direct your magic," Iseldir reasoned.

"I have to do what I must to protect this kingdom and everyone it holds," Merlin responded, his tone trembled not in weakness but rather in anger. "It was my job before and it is my job now. I will not allow another take my place, not after sitting here, useless, for months."

"But we cannot chance losing the opportunity-"

"No!" Merlin screamed. He shook harder than ever as he violently swung his head back and forth in denial. He would not allow another in his place; he promised himself that he would at least help the kingdom if there were nothing else he could do. In his agitation, the slivers of calm he managed to grasp escaped him and the corners of the chambers took on dark shadows. Each shadow grew and curled outwards and expanded into the room. Its jarring movements unsettled the warlock further for he clenched his eyes tight and trembled even harder. Murmurings reverberated through the room and whispered into his ears. They told of Merlin the Useless in the oh so painfully familiar voices.

The nurturing one that sang his nightmares away sang of disappointments. He was useless. Nothing but a burden to the people he loved. Another corrected her, for he was not a burden but a curse. The soft one that burned his heart with passion burned him with spite. He was a traitor. He readied his knife to sink into the backs of people who trusted him. The noble and the friend who supported him from the shadows jeered at him instead.

He caused nothing but destroy everything his loved ones accomplished. He was a blight to everyone he came into contact. He was nothing but the living, breathing reincarnation of misfortune. Even Iseldir recognized he could do nothing to help Camelot from Morgana. How did he possibly trick himself into believe such lies? He coul-

"-rlin! Merlin!" Arthur shouted, breaking through the miasma that enveloped the warlock into a panic. The warlock was wrenched from his thoughts, the shadows retreated, and the whisperings quieted. Merlin realized his breathes came out in quick gasps from his body natural response to hyperventilate in the ensuing panic. He forced himself to take deep, measured breathes before he opened his eyes and was face-to-face with a very worried King. Around him, still supporting him upright, Gwaine and Iseldir hovered over his shoulders; their face held the same fear.

"Emrys," Iseldir said, his voice measured as if trying not to upset the man further, "I'm sorry, bu-"

"How about we compromise in this, hmm?" Gwaine interrupted the druid with a glare. Whether the druid had not meant to upset the warlock, the knight didn't care. What he did care about was never seeing his friend in such a panicked state again. "Why don't you teach Merlin the incantation and let him try first; if he can't then you can have a go at it."

"That will work," Iseldir nodded, casting a wary glance at the warlock.

"And what's to stop you from using my magic before I try?" Merlin asked, bitterness inflected his speech as he glanced at his hands that rested on his lap.

"I can't take your magic without your permission. I can feed you the draught to open a channel into your power but if the gates are closed, nothing can go through."

"Will I be able to tell when you are going to use it?"

Iseldir nodded again, "It will feel as if something was tugging at you."

Merlin raised his head and met each worried pair of eyes before he released a sigh and nodded his head in agreement.

"Very well Emrys, I will instruct you the best I can on the incantation, but first," Iseldir reached out and touched one of the servant's shoulders gently and inspected the damage, "we need to take care of this."

Merlin gave a curt nod and allowed Iseldir with the help of Gwaine and Arthur to push the man gently down onto the cot so that he lay on his back and faced the ceiling. With quick directions to the two observers to hold the servant down, Iseldir began to pull the left arm away from Merlin's body, careful not to jolt it too much, as he straightened the limb out as far upwards as he could before he twisted it slightly so that that Merlin's wrist faced away from the druid. Then Iseldir placed his left hand against Merlin's collarbone, right next to shoulder joint, while his right hand firmly held the arm. Once in position, Iseldir gave the arm a tug upwards with one hand while he held the man down with the other. After a few seconds and a groan from Merlin, the shoulder popped back into the joint, forcing a gasp from the servant.

A thin sheen of sweat covered Merlin's brow. Though his shoulder still ached, the pain he had felt was a relief compared to before. Of course, he did not forget that Iseldir still had to relocate his other shoulder. While he took a moment to catch his breath, Iseldir took a few bandages and wrapped the shoulder. He then moved around the cot, to Merlin's other side, and pulled the other arm and with the same procedure as before, Iseldir popped Merlin's other arm back into its joint and bandaged it. With a nod to the others, they carefully sat him upright, which allowed him to create a makeshift sling that looped around the man's forearm and tied around each shoulder.

"You okay mate?" Gwaine asked while Iseldir continued to treat the worst of the gashes. He inspected the way Merlin shuddered at the pain and he feared the effects of the infection that had already spread through the carved dragon on his chest. The man's body was weak enough; it did not need to be subjugated to disease on top of everything else. Then again, he didn't believe his friend should be running around the castle in the middle of a war in his condition.

Merlin nodded mutely as he stared at his pale hands. From where they slung, a deep aching pain radiated form each shoulder. He could not feel much of anything past his elbow to his fingertips of his left arm; it scared him that he could not even twitch his fingers. His other arm, though not much better, seemed to have been in better conditions. The paralysis affected a good portion of his arm but a tingling sensations and pain spiked through his entire arm rather than the numbness he felt in his left. When he attempted to move his right hand, his thumb, forefinger, and middle finger all curled slightly, his other two remained paralyzed; even his wrist bent a bit, though the movements intensified the pain. He would have difficulty performing a complex incantation that required more hand movements to direct it than what his instinctual magic could do.

Iseldir took no notice, whether from being oblivious or out of respect, and continued to care for the wound on the servant's chest. Just as he tied off the ends of the wraps that encased Merlin's chest, Merlin spoke up.

"I'll be fine. I just need to learn that spell."

"Patience, Emrys. Let me care for the rest of your wounds."

"You have done enough. We don't have time to waste if we want to stop Morgana. We don't even know where the anchor is!"

"I-I know where it is." Mumbled a small voice from the back of the chambers, causing all four heads to turn to it direction. Standing on the steps to Merlin's small room, door opened, was a blonde girl. She must have hidden herself in there since the battle started; when the four entered the chambers, she was too afraid up until that moment to make her presence known.

Merlin recognized her immediately, "Alison?"

"You're the one she's looking for, aren't you? You're this Emrys?"

Merlin's steadfast gaze met hers, "Are you afraid of me?"

Alison glanced down, "No."

The servant gave the girl a smile while Arthur addressed her, "And you know where the anchor is? Can you show us?"

"More than that, Sire," the girl mumbled while she bowed to Arthur. Without lifting her head she continued, "I-I w-want to be of help. I even practiced some so I may do more than ease the pain!"

With that, the girl stumbled down the steps and rushed to the servant's side. Iseldir retreated from his ministrations at the girl's pleading eyes. With the same care as before, Alison slipped her hand against Merlin's side, directly above a particularly nasty laceration that started just above his navel and wrapped around to his back.

She took a deep breath, glanced at Merlin for approval, before she whispered, " **Ic hæle þina þrowunga.** "

Her eyes glowed gold the moment she uttered the last syllable. Arthur and Gwaine watched in amazement, while Iseldir looked on with curiosity, as the edges of the skin stitched back together, leaving behind a thin white scar. Alison released her breath and admired her work before she looked up at Merlin with a smile.

"It worked," Alison said, part in surprise and part insecure by the magic.

"Good job, you've been practicing," Merlin mumbled as he too observed the newly healed wound.

"Yup! After I talked to you the other day, I wanted to be able to do more," Alison said. "I can't help my parents, at least not the way I was trying. Instead, I decided to practice my m-magic, learn what I can from these books here," she gestured to the haphazard stacks of tomes around the chambers. "I can't help the people already gone, only those who still needs help."

Merlin stared at her, speechless. Then he began to giggle which he tried and failed miserably to contain. Instead of stopping, the warlock broke down into full-blown laughter; the cheer shook his injured body and forced tears from his eyes. Still he couldn't help it for the girl experienced the same sentiments he had when they met. All around him, the others stared in confusion, wondering why the warlock had broken down into such an extreme mood swing.

"Merlin?" Arthur asked, unsure whether to worry for the man or smack him across the head for being an idiot.

"S-sorry!" Merlin gasped between giggles. "It's just, just don't worry about it."

"Idiot," Arthur muttered.

Merlin rolled his eyes, "Anyways, Alison, can you tell us where the anchor is so that we can end this?"

"Of course," the girl nodded as she reached her hand towards another wound, "I can lead you to the anchor."

"How do you know where to find it?"

"Well I assume it is the place that is more heavily guarded than you were."

"Fair enough," Merlin chuckled, "then Iseldir, can you teach me the incantation now?"

"Yes, Emrys," Iseldir said with a smile. For better or worse, things were finally falling into place.


	14. Chapter 14

They traveled through the castle again, with Alison leading the way, Iseldir supporting Merlin's weakened form, and Arthur and Gwaine flanking the group with their swords drawn at ready. They had remained at Gaius' chambered for a short while longer after the girl's appearance, enough time for Alison to heal many of Merlin's small wounds while also, under Iseldir instruction, began healing the warlock's shoulders. The incantation required to fully heal the damage done was a long and complex procedure; however, Iseldir knew a few basic incantations that would help start the healing process. If Merlin were going to have a chance to do the incantation to stop the chimeras, then he should be in his best physical condition.

Once Alison had finished, Merlin had regained a bit more mobility of his arms. His left was still, for the most part, paralyzed, but he was able to somewhat lift his right arm, about chest level, and wiggle all his fingers while his wrist was able to bend further than before. The damage done still restricted the man's movement, but Merlin was grateful that the damages to his shoulders wouldn't be permanent. The servant, healed of minor wounds and bandaged, was able to stay on his feet with some aide. Before they left, Alison disappeared and returned quickly from the back room and found a threadbare red tunic to replace the ragged mess of his old one

Together the group walked deeper into the castle, descending staircases after staircases. They drew closer to the dungeon, to everyone's unease, but continued forward for they must get to the anchor. It could only be found in the deepest part of the castle, a place few would go or even dare to enter without permission years ago. It was set in the caverns that lied beneath the citadel that had once years ago, housed the Great Dragon. Not only was it easily hidden from most but also its one entrance was simple to guard.

Argument erupted when they first left on Alison's further involvement; however, she managed to get them to agree for her to lead them through the citadel by reminding them that of the five present, she was the only one who knew the location of most of the guards that made their rounds around the castle. She led them through odd ends and corners through the most indirect routes to the caverns below. When they arrived at the corner that led into a downward staircase to the entrance, she stopped and raised her hand towards the others. With a nod of her head, Alison indicated towards the bend just ahead.

"Down there is the entrance to the caverns and it's guarded by a half a dozen men and two chimeras," Alison whispered to the men behind her.

"The soldiers we can handle, but how are we to bring down the chimeras?" muttered Arthur as he mentally calculated their odds of surviving against the creatures of magic.

"Well, Sire, if you can't handle them, I can slay them for you," Gwaine smiled, a glint in his eyes showed his excitement to the upcoming battle. Since finding Merlin, the knight had been itching for action to release all his pent up anger against Morgana.

"Gwaine, now is not the time for jokes."

"I am not joking." Arthur looked at Gwaine, discerning the serious tone his voice took while the knight continued, "You're right, we can easily take out the soldiers but you need someone to distract the chimeras long enough to destroy the anchor. Once you take out the anchor, I can kill the chimeras. Until then, I'll distract the two."

"Alright then," the King said after he hesitated, "let's go."

"Wait," Iseldir called, "Emrys, you need to drink the draught."

Before they left the chambers, Iseldir and Merlin agreed to hold off on drinking the potion to ensure its effects would last long. They did not want to chance it in case the servant could not destroy it himself. It was also agreed not to release the magic suppressing chains from his arms. At the decision, his magic raged from within, as if with a mind of its own, it fought and tempted him into breaking the chains. With freedom so close, it riled up him with a force he had never experienced before. He wanted to tear the metal from his skin, but he kept his control as always. As soon as he reached their destination, Iseldir would remove the chain with hopes that Merlin would be able to direct the power against the anchor.

Iseldir drew the potion from a pocket inside his cloak. He unstopped it and handed it over to the servant who stared at it with distaste before he threw back his head and drunk the liquid in a single gulp. He grimaced as he handed the empty vial back to the druid.

"Why are all potions so awful, do you purposefully make them that way?"

"No, it is because they're not made with taste in mind," Iseldir smiled. "I don't know how long this potion would last so we best being going in case you can't immediately destroy the anchor, I will take over."

Merlin nodded, "I'll allow you to direct my magic but unless that happens, I will destroy it."

"Are you ready for this?" Arthur asked , his eyes meeting that of Merlin's.

"No," Merlin said, "I'll rather just take a nap"

"Well you don't have much of a choice."

"Of course, you prat," Merlin rolled his eyes before turning to Alison. "You must go and hide now."

"Hide? I'm not going to hide," Alison said, determined.

"We can't protect you in the middle of a fight and you will be helpless against an attack. You need to find a safe to place now to hide in until the battle is over."

"I am not a child, I know how to fight."

"You are still a child and I will not be responsible for your death."

"I can't sta-"

"Enough!" The two stopped in their argument to glower at the one who interrupted them. Arthur glared at Merlin then turned to Alison, his eyes softened. "Merlin is right; this is no place for you."

"But I want to help," Alison retorted, irritated at the whine her tone took.

"You have helped," Merlin murmured, "You have done so much for us. Without your help, we wouldn't have made it this. _I_ wouldn't have made it this far."

Alison looked down, "I just don't want to let anyone get hurt when I can stop it."

"Hey," Merlin called softly, waiting until the girl looked up at him from where he stood supported by Iseldir, "You have done quite a lot. You are no fighter, not like us; your job is to heal, not to injure. When the battle is over, you will have more than enough to do, but until then hide, save your energy for those who need your help the way I did."

After a few seconds Alison mumbled, "Fine."

"Good," Merlin smiled.

"Then let us get on with this," Arthur said, motioning for Iseldir, with Merlin, to stand aside so he and Gwaine may squeeze pass, blades in hand. Merlin looked back at Alison, before they went too far to see her. The girl wore a somber face while her hands fiddled with the fabric of her skirts. It was for the best that they left her out; she would have no place once the sword begun swinging.

Up ahead, Arthur reached the foot of the steps with Gwaine at his heels. He poked his head around the corner and noted the location of the guards. A small table sat to the side surrounded by four guards playing a game with dice. They tossed coins in a haphazard pile on the center as they placed their bets for the next round. Torches brightened the small chamber all around while the last two guards stood at the entrance on the opposite end of the room that led further down into the cavern. Arthur's eyes searched the room longer, unable to spot the location of the chimeras, to which he glanced at Gwaine about. The knight merely gave him a shrug and gave his sword a shake as if to tell Arthur to get on with it; there was no point in waiting any longer.

After another nod to indicating the guards on the other side of the room for Gwaine to handle, Arthur charged into the room at a sprint to knock out the guards at the table before the other guards could give so much as a shout of warning. He brought down the hilt of his sword on the first guard's head then swung it to the side and took out the second with a slash as he was pushing himself from the table. Across the room, Gwaine lunged his sword into one of the standing guards and parried the attacks of the other, exchanging blows as each tried to gain an advantage.

The king barely had a moment to check his knight was fine when the last two guards finally made their way around the table and attacked him. He felt his arm jar with the force of the attack when he blocked the first guard's attack and shoved him back to block the other guard before he slipped his blade between Arthur's ribs. He forced the tip of the blade with the base of his own away from his body while he also brought the point of his sword to jab at the guard's hand. The guard dropped his blade and only had time to give an astonished look before Arthur knocked him out with a bash in the head. Behind the King, the other was about to deliver a fatal blow when he came to a sudden stop; the blood covered tip of a sword poked out from his chest. He gave a stutter, slid off the metal, and slumped onto the ground.

While Arthur had been busy fending off the two guards, Gwaine had taken down his opponent. The guard proved to be skilled enough in swordplay to stand his own for a while; however, he was no match for a Knight of the Round and Gwaine found it effortless to cut down this particular fighter. The knight glanced back and noticed the opening Arthur left, distracted by his opponent. With a few quick strides, Gwaine crossed the room in time to stop the last remaining guard.

"Thank you," Arthur said as he nodded to the downed guard.

"You know me, always saving damsels in distress. What I don't always do is find lost pets," the knight said as he looked around the chamber for chimeras.

"They must have been called out to help in the battle," Iseldir said from the foot of the stairs. Once they took out the guards, he led Merlin to meet up with the other two at the center of the room.

"Then let us not waste time," Arthur said.

Together they descended the next flight of steps. Soon the walls changed from smooth and chiseled to rough and crude stone. The light dimmed further as the torches became few and far in between, forcing the group to stop and retrieve one of the lights from the socket in the wall. They continued on their way and soon the passageway began to widen slightly before finally it opened up to a huge cavern. A few feet in front were a ledge with a steep drop off. Further past was a rocky outcropping that had a flat top, worn down from the times the dragon roosted upon it. Sitting atop stood a staff, straight with no apparent support. It oozed magic and light.

In the limited light, it was hard to discern the carved figures on the lower portion of the staff, but closer to the top the figures were more distinct. There were creatures carved into the dark wood, chimeras with snarls permanently etched in their face. Interlocked in claws and sinew, they played a deadly dance of tooth and nail; at the head of the staff was the largest of them all. It seemed to stand atop the bodies of its brethren and its maw gaped open, mid roar with fangs displayed, not a care to the monsters beneath. Seated between its jaws was a crystal ball, the source of light that allowed Arthur and the others to see the features of the staff. It glowed with a dark purple light that, even from a distance, felt like the frigid claws of the dorocha.

"That's it," whispered Iseldir.

"Yea… Iseldir are you ready?" Merlin asked as he extended his right forearm to the druid. This was his chance, his chance to make things right. He was tired, so very tired to be able to do much in battle. His magic raged through him, ready to be released, to do what it had wanted to do since this had started.

It wanted to fight.

It was a reflection of Merlin's own desire. He longed to fight, to help everyone, to save everyone. He wanted to prove to everyone, to Arthur, that he was not useless.

_Worthless_.

It was his moment of redemption. Merlin would destroy the staff, close the portal on the chimeras and cut them off from the source of their power. From the corners of the cavern, the shadows seemed to come alive, writhing across the ground. It stretched forward, towards him, with intentions to drag him back into their darkness, into the world of nightmares. Merlin had been holding off the hallucinations with every bit of energy left since he realized that Arthur had finally found him. They stood to the side, ready and waiting for Merlin to slip in his control. Even from his position at the entrance, Merlin thought he could make out familiar figures that stood with sneers carved into their face.

He must ignore them. He had a job to do and he would do it no matter what. Merlin would become the protector, the weapon, for Arthur to command so that Albion may receive the peace that it had sought after for so long. He knew he couldn't resist the shadows, the madness that contaminated his mind, nor did he feel the need to. He was worthless outside his job to protect. The illusions were his regrets and failures and each would serve to be a reminder of what he could lose lest he shirked from his duties. He accepted he was worthless but being worthless did not mean he was to turn his back to the kingdom. Merlin would work towards the betterment of Camelot and everyone in the land of Albion and he would start by ridding the world of the filthy dark magic that Morgana had brought out.

"Are you ready for this," Iseldir asked, meeting his eyes.

"Yes."

"Then everyone, stand back."

Iseldir led Merlin to the edge as close as they could get to the staff, behind them Arthur and Gwaine retreated to the opening and watched as the druid reached for the silver chain that wrapped around the warlock's forearm. Arthur watched with curiosity as a string of foreign words flowed from the druid's mouth and the chains began to glow. They had been told before hand the dangers in releasing the magic, which anyone who was close to the man if he lost control would be put in harm's way. He and Gwaine alike hoped that that would not happen, not wanting not only cause their friend more suffering but also lose the one chance to stop the chimeras.

Merlin's unease grew as the chain began to glow harsher, becoming close to painful on the eyes. It felt warm to his skin and grew increasingly hot, the scorching heat enough to cause the skin beneath to blister. He clenched his jaw and bit into his lips, stopping his groans of pain before they could even begin. Then with one final murmured incantation, the chain snapped; a high metallic screech wailed from it as the enchantment crumbled. With weathered hand, Iseldir pulled it away from the warlock's arm and dropped it to the ground. He then looked at Merlin, ready at a moment's notice in case the worst happened.

Merlin saw none of this nor did he feel the burns for much longer. Once the druid removed the chains, he was left breathless in the power. It slammed into him from all sides, his barriers that he had built over the years of study and practice crumbled before its might. The rage was nothing compared to the whirlwind that consumed him, batted him away like a fly in a storm. Control was but a fleeting thought, the innocent hope that Merlin could contain the beast inside. Panic began to fill him, and in the moment of weakness, his grasp over his mentality slip and another illusion, another ghost from his past began to form behind him. Indistinct and unseen from all, it twisted into existence, its cold breath panted down his neck.

"The evil of magic will be the downfall of this kingdom," it whispered, "whether it is Morgana's or yours."

In a span of a second, the words hit Merlin with a force that combatted his magic. He released his panic and fear and narrowed his mind on that single thought. He pulled at the power, wrestled it into submission until it grudgingly retreated to just below the surface, the energy bubbled at his fingertips. He did not need to contain it completely, only to hold it long enough so he may shape it, mold it into a new purpose, one that would serve the greater good rather than its mindless destruction. Merlin cleared his mind of everything and fixated on control. His previous ragged breaths evened out and after another minute before he opened his eyes, only just realizing that he had closed them, and was met with Iseldir's worried face.

"Emrys?"

"I-I'm fine," Merlin stuttered, "We need to hurry."

Iseldir helped Merlin turn toward the staff while also murmuring quick advice on the spell. By the entrance, Arthur had freed the breath he had been holding when he saw Merlin react to the chain's release. He saw the man tremble as the power tried to rush out and heard the way the warlock struggled to breathe. Gwaine tried to go and help but Arthur stopped him, knowing there was nothing to be done for their friend and that getting involved would only worsen matters. When the shaking stopped and the warlock breathing returned to normal, Gwaine relaxed as well and they watched as the two prepared to take out the anchor.

"Thank the gods," Arthur murmured.

"Not just yet," Gwaine replied.

"And why's that?"

"Because things have been going way too easy than expected and when things get too easy, that is when I begin to expect the worse."

"Why can't you just accept that amongst all the bad we finally struck good fortune?"

"That's because, dear brother, I am not the fool you take me for."

That was the only warning they received before they suddenly found themselves flung through the air and into the ground behind their friends. With a wave of the hand, Morgana against had them flying, this time into the wall. From the shadows of the tunnel, Morgana emerged, beside her slunk two chimeras, the two that were stationed to protect the entrance to the caverns. They approached the sorcerers, forcing Iseldir and Merlin to step away from the ledge, away from the staff. The two snarled and snapped at them but otherwise made no move to attack, not without the orders from their master. Arthur and Gwaine rose to their feet quickly and both brandished their swords against the witch.

"Why Merlin, what are you doing out of your room?" Morgana smiled at the warlock's glare.

"Morgana," Arthur called, bringing Morgana's attention from Merlin to him.

"Arthur."

"Morgana, you can end this, end all this pointless fighting."

"Now why would I do that Arthur? Why should I allow you to go back to butchering my people?"

"What people, Morgana," Arthur asked, incredulous, "What people are you trying to protect. Have you seen what you have done to Camelot?"

"I have brought peace and protection to all those who were persecuted!"

"No. You only struck more fear into the hearts of the people. You have not only caused the people to suffer but also your own kind. Congratulation Morgana, you have brought another Purge on this land. Father would be proud."

Morgana narrowed her eyes, "You will regret saying that." She lifted her hand toward Arthur and prepared to utter a spell.

"I will not touch him if I were you," Merlin called out. Morgana turned back to the warlock as he picked his way around the chimeras. The creatures snarled and nipped at the man but otherwise did not touch him; instead, they stood nearby and kept an eye on both the warlock and the druid. Even from this distance, Arthur could tell that the warlock could barely stand his feet. What little color h regained from Iseldir and Alison's combined ministration was gone as he forced his legs to support the entirety of his weight. It was only through stubbornness that Merlin possessed that kept him standing on his feet.

"And what are _you_ going to do about it, use your pathetic excuse for magic? I hold the power of the High Priestess; trust me, Merlin, this is a fight you can win," Morgana sneered.

"I suggest you learn from past mistakes."

"And what is that? That you prove to be far more irritating than I anticipated?"

"No," Merlin retorted, "that where the Once and Future King walks so too follows Emrys."

"Oh really," snarled Morgana. The witch snapped her fingers and the two chimeras began to circle around Merlin, eyeing him as though he was their next meal. "I see no one but my brother, his knight, a pathetic druid, and you. Last I knew, none of you could possibly have the power Emrys is said to wield."

"Then what is stopping you from attacking us?"

"I like to enjoy myself," smiled Morgana.

"You fear Emrys' presence," Merlin corrected. Sweat broke out on his brow, as his weakened body grew tired, soon he wouldn't be able to stand. "You are waiting for him to make his appearance. This, confronting us down here, talking with us, this is all to stall for time. You are using this to tempt Emrys out of hiding."

"I am not afraid of Emrys," Morgana growled as she gestured to the chimeras. The two turned from the warlock and began to stalk towards Arthur and Gwaine instead. "Do you still believe that silly notion once the chimeras kill your precious King? I already killed his precious serving girl!"

Arthur eyes widened, his hand tightened on his blade.

Guinevere…

"What have you done to Guinevere?" Arthur shouted, he took a step towards the witch, not caring for the chimeras that snarled at him or the hand that snatched at his chainmail and kept him from going further forward.

"I had a few of my lovely pets take care of her, the same way they'll care of you now."

Arthur felt Gwaine let go as he raised his sword before him, just in time to shield his body from the chimera as the two pounced on them. He swatted the first aside with his sword to which the creature pulled back in surprise as it sensed the magic that emitted from the blade; the force caused him to stumble. Gwaine, however, was knocked to the ground from the force of the leap and used his full strength to kick the chimera off him before either heads had a chance to strike. The knight got to his feet and backed up until his back pushed against the wall. Together the two faced the new threat side by side all the while Merlin watched in horror for the safety of his friend.

The warlock knew there was only so long the two could keep up against the chimeras, even with the dragon's fire blade Arthur wielded. His magic rushed forward again, rising to its master's rising emotions, once against battered him. It burned against the back of his eyes, ready to destroy what threatened the life of the King and the witch behind the attack.

As Merlin prepared, a spell upon his lips that would catch the chimeras' attention away from the King, he felt a strange tugging sensation at his core. Its feather touch felt light at first but grew with intensity; it insisted for his magic to follow. The magic sensed it as well but chose to remain for the spell its master was prepared to incant. Merlin, however, identified the sensation from the quick explanation Iseldir had provided about the enchantment placed on the draught. The druid had said he would not be able to use the magic without his permission and the warlock now understood what the man had meant. Faced with indecision, Merlin found himself at a crossroad. He could either allow Iseldir to take his magic and destroy the anchor or kill the two chimeras first then take care of the anchor himself.

Merlin was tempted to take the latter option, more so that he could prove to everyone, to Arthur, and to himself that he was capable of at least that much. It was more than that though. He wanted to show Morgana that he was not one that could be easily toyed with. That he was more than the man who cried and begged every time her knife and magic descended upon him, more than her abilities as High Priestess could handle. He wanted to use his magic to destroy her, remove her from the life she established in Camelot. Even the temptation to kill lurked in the corner of his mind, and option that he would have shied away from before she tortured him.

It terrified Merlin that he entertained such dark thoughts, disturbed him more than when he was ready to give into death. It was that horror that He took ahold and allowed him to decide his choice. With a sigh, he allowed the magic to flow through his fingertips towards, not the chimeras, but to Iseldir who stood with eyes closed before the anchor. He wobbled on his feet, relief shot through his body as the weight of his magic left him and slammed into the druid, who staggered with shoulders hunched before straightening back to his full height. Though unintelligible, Merlin heard him incant, eyes closed and arms held in the air as he swayed in place. His words gave the magic form, a purpose for the first time in a long time, to target and destroy the staff that stood before him.

"Morgana," Merlin called out, his eyes furious, "never underestimate the power of Emrys." Before Morgana could register what the warlock said, the druid had finished the incantation with a cry and collapsed onto his knees while his eyes burned a brilliant gold and the staff trembled. The magic rushed from the druid's outstretched hand, even as Iseldir fell, and enveloped the staff in hues of gold and blue with elements of white, Iseldir's own magic.

The colors swirled and intertwined with each other. It battled with the purple glow, which lashed out against the energy. The magic was too much however for the brilliant colors struck and tore the purple apart until it drove it to retreat into the crystal ball until it was but a glimmer at the center. The spell then seeped into the staff and crystal alike, no longer having to fight against its dark energies. The wood crackled under the strains a a crack formed its length and radiated from the center of the crystal; the light that invaded the staff now leaked from the cracks. With a loud whine, the crystal burst into dust and shredded the wood into splinters that flew at all directions. The debris bounced off Iseldir's crumpled body, scratching his exposed skin in the process.

The chimeras cried out in pain and stumbled back a few paces shaking their heads. Arthur and Gwaine didn't hesitate to plunge their swords into the chimeras, both struck fatal blows. The bodies fell to the ground dead and the two men stepped over them and leveled their swords against Morgana. The witch throughout it all stood frozen, dumbstruck by the sudden death of her creatures.

"It can't be," she whispered as she stared wide-eyed at one of the splinters that landed near her. "Only one of equal or greater power can destroy that." She looked up at where Iseldir fell to his knees, her eyes widened further, and fear colored her eyes. "You're Emrys."

The shock did not last for long for Morgana, with a snarl, raised her hand and dragged Iseldir's body in front of her. She took ahold of the front of his cloak, eyes still gold with magic, as she forced him into kneel; she yanked his face up until he met her eyes.

"You have caused me so much pain," Morgana hissed.

Iseldir was still dazed from the magic, his mind in pieces from the aftermath. His body seemed to radiate with pain from nonexistent wounds as his mind tried to cope. When he had performed the spell, the magic nearly consumed him for Emrys' magic was more than he had ever believed anyone to possess. He had been told since he was a child of the warlock's power but never had he been so awed as he was when he took control of that magic. Even though he knew the power was tearing him apart, that he would not come out unscathed, Iseldir counted himself lucky to have the opportunity to experience such purity. He pulled the shattered pieces together, enough to look Morgana in the eye and laugh in her face.

"With hatred's blindness, you will never succeed," Iseldir said through clenched teeth.

"You're last words then, Emrys," Morgana sneered as she drew a dagger from within her cloak and plunged it into the druid's gut. She gave the knife one last twist before she threw the druid away from her with magic. Iseldir landed with a thump a few paces away from the edge, a few paces away from the warlock.

"No!" Merlin cried out. Arthur and Gwaine ran forward with swords ready but Morgana laughed and ripped their weapons from their hands, turning the blades against their masters.

Merlin walked the small distance between him and Iseldir, and fell on his knees by the druid's side. With a wince, he drew his right arm form his side and pressed his hand against the wound in a desperate attempt to slow the blood flow. The moment the druid's body landed, Merlin's entire focus zeroed in on Iseldir, unable to stop the constant reminder that he had failed again. All around him, the shadows rose into dark shapes their silent yells surrounded him. They called him coward and pathetic, useless and worthless, but they needn't remind him, he already knew the truth.

He had failed again.

" **Ic hæle þina þrowunga** ," Merlin incanted, but he knew it was hopeless. Of all the magic he had learned, healing was never his strongest and with a fatal wound, Merlin knew there wasn't a chance he could succeed.

"Emrys," Iseldir whispered and his eyes fluttered open.

"Iseldir, I-I'm sorry."

"There is no need to apologize, Emrys," Iseldir mumbled, struggling to remain awake. "You have a great destiny ahead of you and I am proud to be a part of it. Do not fret, with the Once and Future King, you will go far."

With that said, Iseldir eyes closed and he took his last breath. Merlin knelt there for a moment, unable to process the druid's passing. He raised his hand from the wound and stared numbly at the blood that coated his fingers; their metallic scent smothered him. Then he rose to his feet, still staring at the blood on his hand. All around him, the shadows drew closer and pressed against him, half cried of failure while the other cried for revenge. Grief, anger, hopelessness warred in Merlin, pulled him apart and agitated his magic.

Merlin hated the blood that covered his hand, he hated that another was killed in his place. He hated more that people were dying and that he lost another friend. Hunith and Iseldir, even Gwen, no one was safe from the witch's insanity. He was sick of it. All he wanted was the war to stop, to see the peace that the prophecies promised. He was done with it all. He was going to finish it once and for all. There was only one way to finish it and Merlin knew the source of the ire, the hatred that tainted the land with blood and dark magic. He no longer cared for right and wrong.

The warlock turned and approached the witch; her face was ecstatic, happy over the victory she believed to have over her enemy. She was the reason for all the pain and suffering and it was time he ended it. His magic hummed through his body, strengthened his legs and burned through his veins; it chased away the pain and replaced it with energy. The shadows egged him onwards and his hand twitched as he thought of all the spells he could send her way. Still he steadied his hand; there was only one way to truly end this.

All those months she had wanted to know the identity of Emrys. She wanted to find the legendary warlock and kill him to prove there was nothing to stop her. In all that time, Merlin had imagined everything that could happen, from his death and Camelot's destruction to Arthur's victory and the fulfillment of prophecy. He never in all that time imagined killing her. It was something her never considered unless pushed to the choice.

Then again, things never happened the way you expected them.

Merlin would give Morgana what she wanted. She would discover the true meaning of Emrys. He was done hiding; he was done with being tortured. He would show her just how powerful Emrys was.

He would show her just how terrifying he could be.

"Morgana," Merlin called out, ignoring the way Gwaine yelled at him to get to safety and Arthur on not being an idiot. He was intent on only one person, the source of all his suffering. He could practically see her blood-soaked hands.

"Merlin," Morgana smirked, "Are you volunteering to die next?"

"No," he said, his voice flat and his face impassive. "I'm ready to give you what you want."

"And what is that? I don't need the allegiance of a pathetic sorcerer like you. With Emrys dead, you have nothing more to offer me but your death," Morgana's smile widened as she turned the fireball she had prepared to kill Arthur towards Merlin and flung it at the servant. The fireball soared through the air, seeking to burn its target.

Then it stopped, an inch from the center of Merlin's chest. The servant gazed at it, eyes glowing gold, until the fireball flew from his chest and to his side into the palm of his hand. Morgana stared at him surprised; unsure on how such a weak sorcerer deflected her spell without so much as a twitch.

"You killed Iseldir," Merlin said, his eyes still on the fireball.

"I killed Emrys," she corrected, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"He was a druid chieftain and the previous guardian of the Cup of Life. He was nothing more, nothing less. He merely wielded Emrys' magic."

"Then tell me, Merlin, where is your Emrys if not here?" Morgana shouted; unease colored her tone.

"Oh Morgana, you should know better than anyone that looks can be deceiving," Merlin admonished. "Look at you, the daughter of Uther Pendragon himself. Who would have guessed you would one day wield magic? Who would have guessed that a mere servant could be the most powerful sorcerer of Albion?"

Morgana eyes widened in shock, "No, it can't be…"

"Yes, Morgana," Merlin gave a mirthless smile. He straightened himself and lifted his chin; his magic brushed aside the pain that radiated throughout his entire body. "I am Merlin of Ealdor and I was born with magic. I came to Camelot to find a purpose for my talents, a purpose that led me to defeating the likes of Nimueh and Cornelius Sigan. I stopped you and Morgause numeral of times and learned of my heritage as Dragonlord. I was the last to meet with the Fischer King and laid eyes upon the beauty of Avalon. As I carried on my duties and defended the kingdom, I have come to learn that I am destined to guide the Once and Future King into a promising future."

Morgana took a step back; her hands began to tremble in fear.

"They call me Emrys and I have had enough of you. You asked for me Morgana, now here I am."


	15. Chapter 15

Gwen clenched her eyes tight at the sharp pain as the fang pierced through the delicate skin of her neck. It did not take a split second after when she heard a shout and felt the rush of an unseen force sweep over her and slam into the beast that pinned her to the ground. It wrenched the chimera off her and flung it to the ground, next to her. Blood trickled from the small puncture wound on her neck as the Queen sat up and quickly drew her legs beneath her to stand, but found she was still in shock from the narrow escape to get on her feet; her eyes searched for the source of the spell. Standing a few paces away, from the direction in which the chimeras had come from, was a sorcerer. He stood tall, clad in the dark hues of Morgana's colors, with his arm raised, hand splayed, and the glimmers of gold as his eyes returned to brown.

Elyan glanced at the sorcerer from where he fell before he stood unsteadily on his feet and stumbled his way to his sister. As the knight struggled, the sorcerer turned his attention to the other chimera. It had made short work on the druid's exposed back, tearing apart the flesh it could sink its teeth. The man was already unconscious, whether from blood loss or pain, but the slight rise and fall of his chest, his shallow breath, showed he still clung to life. Perhaps he would die in the end; it did not matter to the sorcerer for all he saw was the chimera, another he needed to take down. With another incantation, the sorcerer blasted the chimera away as well.

"Gwen!" Elyan gasped as he staggered beside the Queen and placed his hand on her shoulder, glad she was alive. "Gwen, are you okay?"

"Yes, Elyan, I'm fine."

"Not for long if you keep sitting there," the stranger said as he stepped beside them, hand raised and ready as the chimeras regrouped in front of them. They snarled and snapped at each other in their strange way of communicating. "You need to run."

"Who are you," Gwen asked as she finally rose back on her feet and supported Elyan by placing his arm around her shoulder and wrapping her own around his middle.

"No one important, just here to help."

Gwen shook her head, "But how are we su-"

"Watch out!" the sorcerer yelled as the chimeras launched another attack. Two charged at him, a trail of blood left behind by one while the crackle of blackened skin could be heard from the other. The sorcerer grunted as he projected a barrier between him and the danger before the beasts collided into his shield. He tried to keep the two back with a combination of fireballs and force but they kept on him and prevented him from helping the others while the third chimera stalked towards the siblings.

Gwen gently removed herself from Elyan long enough to stoop to the ground and grab the sword she dropped earlier. She brought the sword up against the chimera, keeping a firm hold on her brother as they backed once more towards the tent. The chimera prowled closer to the siblings until it charged the two. It dodged the sword aimed for its head then used its large mass to crash into them and knocked them to the ground. Gwen scrambled for the sword and brought it down on the creature's back, but was unable to do much damage. Elyan groaned from where he fell and watched helplessly as his sister faced the chimera.

Again, the chimera attacked, this time Gwen brought the sword up into a block. The chimera's jaws clamped around the sword and shook its head in an attempt to wrench the sword from her hands. She held on for as long as she could and though the sword edge bit into the chimera's gums, blood oozing around its teeth, it managed to tear the sword from the Queen's hand.

The sorcerer launched another fireball at the two, causing one to shy away while the second too slow to escape the blaze. The chimera screamed in pain as the flames consumed it while he rolled away and snatched a sword lay on the ground. With the sword, the one that the knight had left behind in his fear for his sister, he thrust it through the creature's eye and into its head. The chimera gave a yelp before it shuddered and laid still; even with the fatal wound, the chimera whimpered at the sorcerer in a weak attempt at growling. With both chimeras downed, the stranger looked to the others.

Gwen had backed away from the chimera, her hands held slightly away from her body as if unsure in what to do to prevent the chimera from charging at her. Then the chimera pounced, seeking to finish what it tried before the sorcerer showed up. However, at midflight, Elyan rushed in front of Gwen and tackled the chimera. On the ground, Elyan grappled with the beast while the Queen turned to retrieve her sword, motivated by the grunts of pain her brother made.

Seeing this, the sorcerer spat another incantation and threw the chimera off Elyan. He eyed it from where it landed, ready throw it back while also keeping an eye out for the other who finally snuffed out the flames, when both creatures suddenly yelped and backed away. They shook their heads violently, as if to rid them of pain; their growls and snarls turned to whines and hisses as they kept retreating. The sorcerer met the eyes of the Queen, confused on what had happened. Gwen, however, did not need another second to ponder for her to realize what was wrong. This was what they were waiting for, the anchor was destroyed; they were weak.

Gwen nodded her head to the chimera nearest him as she turned the point of her sword to the other. Not needing more encouragement, he plunged his sword into its neck, drew the blade out, and jumped back. The flesh had been unresisting, which shocked the sorcerer as he watched the chimera bleed. When their skin seemed like iron now felt as soft as the underbelly of a newborn calf.

The chimera gurgled around the blood, only alive for few seconds as its heart pumped the rest of its blood out of its body. He turned back and noted the one he stabbed before had died and the third lay still on the ground, a sword protruded from its chest. Beside the corpse, Gwen, smeared in blood, turned her back to it in favor for rushing to her brother's side, who hadn't moved since the chimera was pulled off him.

"Elyan, are you okay? Elyan? Elyan!" Gwen cried out as she shook her brother's shoulder and tried to get his attention. Elyan finally moved, his eyes opened and locked onto her face. His hand reached up and gently rested against the Queen's cheek, his thumb caressed her skin and wiped away the fresh tears that fell from her eye.

"Gwen…"

"It's okay, Elyan, I got you. You're going to be fine," Gwen said, forcing out a smile as she thread her fingers through his short hair.

"I'm sorry Gwen," Elyan mumbled as he closed his eyes and brought his other arm up for her to see. On his forearm were two small puncture wounds. It was the bite of a snake; a snake that made up the tail of a chimera and had enough venom to kill men within the hour. Elyan suffered blood loss and his already weaken body wouldn't be able to…

"No… No!" Gwen yelled and tears fell at a faster pace. "I-I can't lose you too, not you. You're all I have left!"

"That's not true, you got Arthur and everyone at Camelot," Elyan smiled.

"But I don't have another brother, I won't have you."

"No, but you are strong Gwen."

"No, I'm not-"

"Yes you are."

Gwen closed her eyes and pressed her face into the knight's chest, tears leaked through the chain mail and absorbed into the tunic beneath. "Father would be so proud of you."

"And you, he and Mother both would be so very proud of you."

Gwen stayed where she was, her hand caressed Elyan's hand as she kept her face pressed into him. She did not know how long she knelt beside her brother, whether it was seconds or minutes, all the Queen knew was she must hold him tighter, longer, as if her arms could encase his spirit from leaving. She silently willed his heart to keep going, even as the beats thrummed at an ever-slowing rate beneath her. Wishful thinking got her nowhere, especially when she knew the inevitable, for when the heart stilled and air no longer rushed through his lungs. Gwen drew back from his body and grasped onto his face, feeling the warmth escape.

"E-Elyan?" Gwen softly asked, scared to acknowledge what had occurred.

"Elyan…?"

"No..."

"No!"

The forest, devoid of the animals that left at the first appearance of soldiers, stood in eerie silence. There was but one noise that occupied that emptiness, the mournful song that darkened the trees. It echoed through woods, the sound of a woman's sobs that marked the fall of a noble Knight of the Round.

* * *

He knew charging at an all-powerful witch with a sword wasn't the brightest idea, but with their chances against Morgana resting on the fatally wounded druid and the warlock caring for said druid, Arthur was running out of options. So run it was and, by the sound of it, Gwaine shared the same idea. Of course, it wasn't much of a surprise when Morgana brought them to their knees before her with a simple flick of her wrist. Another murmured spell wrenched the swords from the men's grips, sending Gwaine's sword flying over the edge while she kept Arthur's floating in front of him.

"Pathetic," Morgana laughed. She brought Arthur's sword closer where it presented its hilt to her; she didn't have to reach to take a firm hold of it. Blade in hand, she admired the fine craftsmanship and the way the gold glinted by the torchlight before she turned to Arthur with her trademark smirk. "You don't learn do you, Arthur? Swords are nothing against me."

Morgana threw the blade aside where it skittered across the ground, but not far enough to fall over the edge. Arthur glanced at the sword and mentally calculated the odds of retrieving it then killing the witch; however, even if he could escape from Morgana's magical clutches, he knew there was no hope in reaching his sword.

Arthur tried to struggle from the invisible bonds as he stared up at the witch, "Morgana, enough of this. Don't you see what you have done?"

"Done? I have done nothing but bring salvation to those who have been persecuted for far too long."

"Salvation? What kind of salvation are you talking about? I've met druids who fear you, who only wish to live in peace as you search for them, force them into service, and kill them if they say otherwise."

"Those druids know nothing of the struggles I and many others went through," Morgana snarled, "They gain the advantage of freedom without aiding the cause, I only reminded them of their debt."

"You only increased their burden."

"And what could you offer them? I gave them purpose while they faced the pyre under your name."

"You never gave me a chance to believe that magic was more than evil!"

"I did not need to," Morgana said. She extended her hand from which a ball of fire erupted at the center. "You would not have given me a chance. Uther would have had me under the executioner's axe, even if I was his daughter."

"Father would go out of his way for you; you should have given us a chance."

"I made my choice, and I don't regret it. It is the only reason why I am alive now," Morgana said, the insane glint in her eyes softened, though only for a moment at her recalled memories. "And I have enough of this, tell me, now that your precious Emrys is dead, which of you want to die first? Death by flames would be appropriate after what you have caused." She began to approach Arthur, hand extended. The King felt the heat of the small inferno brush against his face as she brought the fireball closer to his face.

"Morgana."

Merlin called out, interrupting her just before she unleashed her spell. The witch whipped he head around to watch as Merlin stepped aside from the druid's body. He made his way towards her while both Gwaine an Arthur watched in horror at the growing smirk on her face.

"Merlin, run!"

"Don't be an idiot and get out!" Arthur supplied to Gwaine's own shout but knew it was too late. Already he could see the predatory glint in Morgana's eyes as she found a new prey to play. With Merlin barely able to walk, let alone move properly to face the witch, the King feared for the servant's life. After everything they struggled through to get here, after months of planning, they were going to lose everything. He was going to lose everything. Camelot, Gwen, his knights…. Merlin.

Arthur furthered his struggles. If he could break his bonds, he could perhaps find a way to distract his sister, if only to give the warlock a chance, but the magic held onto Arthur fast and he had no idea how to break such magical restraints. He felt helpless as he watched the events unfold before him.

"Merlin," Morgana smirked, "Are you volunteering to die next?"

"No, I'm ready to give you what you want."

Arthur froze. The one thing she wanted? The identity of Emrys? Why would it matter when she held power over them? Then he remembered his sister's words after she stabbed Iseldir. She had said Emrys was dead. Did that mean she believe the druid was Emrys? If Merlin planned to reveal himself now to Morgana, just what would she do?

"And what is that? I don't need the allegiance of a pathetic sorcerer like you. With Emrys dead, you have nothing more to offer me but your death," Morgana's smile appeared manic. The fireball that had been getting so uncomfortably previously was drawn away as she turned from him and thrust out her hand; she launched the ball of flames towards the servant.

Arthur felt time seemingly stop as his focus narrowed in on the flames aimed at Merlin. The incantation, fueled by hatred and insanity, streaked through the air and sought to kill his best friend. In those few seconds, Arthur felt he couldn't breathe, even as Merlin stared at it, impassive.

Then it stopped.

The fireball stood still, frozen in midair. From where he knelt on the ground, Arthur thought for one terrifying second that it had hit but knew it was a foolish thought a second later when he did not notice an immediate reaction from Merlin. Then the flames moved again, this time into the warlock's hand from where it hung at his side. Everyone watch its progression with various emotions, Gwaine's face reflected Arthur's in relief while Morgana stood in surprise.

"You killed Iseldir," Merlin said, the swirling flames reflected from his eyes.

"I killed Emrys."

"He was a druid chieftain and a previous guardian of the Cup of Life. He was nothing more, nothing less. He merely wielded Emrys' magic."

"Then tell me, Merlin, where is your Emrys if not here."

"Oh Morgana, you should know better than anyone that looks can be deceiving."

Arthur thought back to all the times he had been confronted with magic and all the presumptions he had made of the people. He was right, for Arthur would never have suspected those he met to have magic until told or given proof. It went to show how ignorant of a belief magic always being evil was.

"Look at you, the daughter of Uther Pendragon himself. Who would have guessed you would one day wield magic?"

He remembered when he first discovered his sister's betrayal and the pain it brought forth. In a way, the magic turned into a scapegoat, an excuse for Arthur to cling on for Morgana turning traitor. He did not once think and wonder what it felt to have a home that hated an integral part of him or how it would change his views of such a home.

"Who would have guessed that a mere servant could be the most powerful sorcerer of Albion?"

Arthur never would. He couldn't even imagine what Merlin had gone through since joining the royal household; and here he was again, putting himself into danger just like he had probably done before and what he would continue to do. Arthur wanted him to escape, to not throw his life away for a lost cause. There was no way they could compete against the likes of Morgana and no matter how powerful Merlin was, Arthur doubt he could do much in his condition.

Nevertheless, Arthur couldn't find the words to speak out to his friend. His words caught in his throat as he watched the shock etched into the witch's face. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Arthur thought he spotted a quick flash of fear in the woman's eyes.

"No, it can't be…"

"Yes, Morgana," Merlin smiled. The smile did not quite fit into his face for the King was used to the grin that seemed to be a permanent fixture on the warlock's face on a daily basis. This smile lacked any of the warmth and cheer the servant held previously and instead held grim determination. This was not Merlin the manservant of Ealdor, he could not even see a sliver of that man; instead, this was Emrys the warlock of prophecies. Whether Morgana wanted it or not, she thoroughly pissed him off.

For the first time, Arthur felt fear, a fear not caused for the servant's safety, but what he was capable of in the grips of anger. He had never seen this man so angry nor could he imagine him overcame by the violent emotions. If the common sorcerer could cause severe damage to Camelot and handle his best knights with ease out of anger, what would happen with the most powerful warlock in existence if he chose such a route?

"I am Merlin of Ealdor and I was born with magic. I came to Camelot to find a purpose for my talents, a purpose that led me to defeating the likes of Nimueh and Cornelius Sigan. I stopped you and Morgause numeral of times and learned of my heritage as Dragonlord. I was the last to meet with the Fischer King and laid eyes upon the beauty of Avalon. As I carried on my duties and defended the kingdom, I have come to learn that I am destined to guide the Once and Future King into a promising future."

Arthur eyes were glued to the warlock, his unease growing the further he listened to the servant's speech. Merlin was not a man known to gloat.

"They call me Emrys and I have had enough of you. You asked for me Morgana, now here I am."

Arthur turned back to Morgana as the witch composed her face and replaced the fear with the arrogance she had long ago adopted. Though she hid it well, Arthur had grown up with her long enough to know how to spot the terror by the way she held her self, the ever so slight tremble of her arms and her fists clenched white. He could even see the nervous twitch of muscle at the corner of her eye.

"You? You're Emrys?"

"Do I have a reason to lie?"

Morgana stared at him. She stared at him for what seemed like the longest of times before she burst into laughter. Her cackle was manic It lacked humor and held the insane edge as the witch's mind made all the connections. Revelations after revelations only forced her to lose even more control and more sanity. It was one thing that the servant was a sorcerer but it shed a whole new light to the past events when revealed as Emrys; every plan and every scheme easily thwarted because she underestimated a single person; the one who was essential in Camelot's defense. All this time she searched for her adversary, she had him in her clutches. How easy would it have been if she had realized? She could have rid herself of such an irritant from the start.

No matter, he would just have to die now.

Once composed Morgana glared out towards the warlock and raised both her arms out before her, "Then die! **Forbærne yfel! Forbærne! Ácwele."**

A ring of fire surrounded Merlin, trapping him, while another, larger, fireball grew in the witch's hand and hurled towards the warlock. Merlin lifted his hand that held her previous attack, face still impassive, and caught the second; the two merged into one and created an inferno doubly more intense than before. He did not flinch at its ferocity.

Instead, without another word, Merlin's eyes flashed gold and the fireball returned towards Morgana, directly towards her heart. Not given much time to think, much less move, the witch threw up her own arm with a shout, and created a shield big enough to take the brunt of the spell, though a few wisps of flames escaped around the barrier and licked at her exposed arm. She hissed in pain as she shook her limb, the pale skin of her arm held an inflamed pattern from where the fire ate into her skin. Meanwhile the warlock gave an unimpressed look at the fire that circled him. His eyes flashed gold with another wordless incantation and the ring petered out of existence.

From the sidelines, Arthur and Gwaine, released from their restraints, began to move towards with the thought of stopping the witch. However, they took no more than a few steps before they were met with a barrier. The slight turn of Merlin's head at the contact caused the two to realize the source of the spell; the warlock wanted no one to get in his way between him and Morgana. Gwaine shouted and punched the barrier while Arthur slammed both his hands against the shield. They were unable to attract his attention after first discovering the barrier. Merlin concentrated entirely on the witch before him. Arthur watched on, helpless in a fight he could not participate that threatened all those he cared.

While the two were rendered useless in the safety of the shield, Morgana shrieked and soon began throwing spells after spells at the servant, each one more powerful than the last, each one more deadly. Yet, not matter how loud she shouted or how complicated the spell, Merlin deflected each and every one of them. He no longer held any kind of sympathy for the witch nor did he felt a need to hold back. His magic, though it had taken a moment to recover from the powerful counter-spell, burned through him. It fed the rising emotions he had tried so hard to keep in control and barred his rational mind from the situation.

He wanted to show the witch how truly powerless she was against him, even with her boasts as a High Priestess. Once she realized that she was nothing against his will, he would finish it; he would kill her. A small corner of his mind cried out to him, trying to call his attention to what he was attempting to do, for it would be something he would come to regret if he carried out his plans. That small, rational voice drowned in the torrential wave of hatred and pain. Merlin was tired of it, tired of losing everything and everyone to one mad woman with the same temperament on grudges as the previous King of Camelot, another who had made his life a constant struggle.

Therefore, he continued to block the attacks, continued to allow Morgana increasingly desperate curses hammer against his defenses. With all her strength battering at him, he stood firm, his magic filled every part of his body in power. He was Emrys and this witch was child's play. She had already lost the moment Iseldir weakened the chimeras and he swatted away her first spell, as though it was nothing but an irritating fly.

Throughout the battle, though he was hesitant to call it so, Arthur watched. He tried to deny his fear of the warlock but failed as he repelled each incantation. The King had heard countless times of the power that Emrys held, of the things the warlock could do with his magic, and though he never held disbelief towards the prominent figure and the magnitude of his power, he could not associate his servant to the name. To Arthur, Emrys was someone none could stand against and held great influence from his power over the land. He had met countless people who viewed the mysterious warlock as savior and revered the man. Compared to his servant, Arthur never quite believed it. Merlin was just the clumsy idiot of Camelot. Even when he found out about his magic, Arthur still viewed the man as such.

Now Arthur felt all the awe and reverence brought on by the name Emrys as he watched the man he thought he had known brush aside curses that could fall dozens of the King's own men. He stood there, back straight, shoulders back, and chin held up as he deflected each spell. Despite the fact that his left arm still hung in a sling and his right could barely move without pain, the warlock stopped each spell without so much as a word or wince. Had he not known, Arthur would have a hard time believing that beneath the tunic, the servant had been severely injured.

Those shoulders held a power beyond Arthur's wild imagining, powers that in the wrong hands could bring destruction to the land of Albion. This just wasn't the spells and enchantments that Arthur was used to seeing but magic in the most purest of form; this was the magic that came instinctual to the warlock, magic that was part of the man's very core. It was the magic fueled by uncontrollable emotions and though Arthur would never believe Merlin would intentionally cause harm, he believed that the warlock was beyond reasoning against Morgana.

Gods help anyone who managed to incite the warlock's rage, including Morgana.

" **Stanas ahreo** -" Morgana began another incantation while changing the direction of the spell by gesturing towards the stone ground beneath Merlin's feet. Her initial attacks had been centered on the warlock, with a change in tactics, not only was she somewhat creating an element of surprise but also attacking in a way not easily defended by the warlock. Merlin had not moved from his spot since he threw the fireball, choosing to hold his ground as he deflected oncoming magic. Morgana deduced that he was not able to move, not without jostling the wounds she carved into his flesh, for he was not even conscious last she saw him.

" **Hleap on bæc!** " Merlin shouted, using a spoken incantation for the first time, cutting off Morgana mid-yell. It sent the witch flying across the cavern and slammed into the wall from where she was further restrained as Merlin focused the entirety of his magic onto her. Hand half raised, Merlin slowly curled his fingers inward; his hand trembled in tension as if he was crushing an object in his grip.

Morgana gasped out for air, her body worked furiously to draw in the much needed air. No matter how much she tried, her lungs still struggled to work, restricted from movement by the crushing weight that surrounded her. Her hands shot up to her throat, scrambling to find a way to open her airway while her legs gave feeble kicks against the wall. Soon the pressure became too much for her to move; her hand remained frozen at her throat as her legs fixed against the wall at odd angles.

She felt more frightened than ever before. The witch thought back to when she first discovered of her magic, the nights when she woke up gasping with fresh nightmares. The nightmares that plagued her of the man she had once looked up to forcing her onto the pyre and the fires that burned her flesh off her bones and her bones into ashes. When she had escaped Uther, she tasted freedom, as limited as it was. No longer did she care for the opinions or love of an old tyrant and his people. Instead, she strove to find her place in life and in extension, all those like her. No matter how much it took, no matter how many lives got in the way, and no matter how much blood stained her hand, Morgana refused to live in the trapped, self-hating world that was Camelot.

When the Cailleach first revealed Emrys' existence, Morgana was damned if she allowed another to plague her mind the way Uther did. Emrys did more than anger her; he frightened her. He was the inevitability the same as Uther: an unstoppable force that would someday end her. All she wanted was a place in life the provided her peace and comfort, without condemning something that was a part of her. Her fear and anger fueled her magic even more and soon the witch learned to harden her heart from her actions and stride towards her own selfish gain. For good or ill, she would have what she wanted in the end.

Yet here she was, struggling to breath by the hand of what she had once believed to be an irritation, the thorn in her side with an unusual amount of luck. Funny how the illusion of idiocy hid the great Emrys, who finally stood before her with neither a shadow nor a disguise for him to hide. Darkness spotted her vision as her oxygen-deprived body began to shut down, yet her eyes still maintained direct focus on the one responsible. There was a million ways he could have killed her, thousands of enchantments that could finish her, still he was using the most basic of spells to squeeze the very life from her body.

Those blue, golden orbs; oh, how they mocked her so.

With the last bit of strength left in her, Morgana attempted to retaliate with wordless spells, quickly before she lost conscious thought. Her eyes flared gold constantly in her feeble attempts, but the warlock's spell was too strong and his magic smothered hers as it smothered her body. This time he had her in his control; he kept her on the edge of oblivion as she had done for months.

Throughout it all, Merlin felt nothing as his magic enveloped Morgana further and swatted every little attempts of freedom from her tainted magic. He watched without care as the light began to fade from her eyes and the once brilliant gold flickered weakly as she began to lose consciousness and step closer to the thresholds of death's door. All around the room the shadows spasmed across the ground, one of which seemed to pull itself up from the ground. It peeled from the ground in strands and twisted together, forming a disturbing humanoid figure. More shadows joined it and soon resulted in a familiar figure.

As the shadows joined, it walked over to the witch and stared at her as if it was a curious new toy before he drew closer to Merlin. When it was close enough, Merlin recognized the druid whose body was rotting just a few paces away. He stood directly in front of the warlock; his transparent body still allowed Merlin to keep Morgana within his eyesight.

"This is not the way Emrys," Iseldir spoke, his voice somber.

"She must die," Merlin whispered.

"This is not _your_ way."

"My way only caused me heartache. This is the _only_ way."

"Then you truly turned into a monster," Iseldir sneered. His body morphed, the joints popped and bones snapped while flesh tore. His body twisted and crackled, molded into a new shape. The impossibilities in the twist made it all the more disturbing as joints moved towards unnaturally direction. The resulting effect was a creature whose body was humanoid enough to send shivers down Merlin's spine. The grotesque monster developed blood red scales across its bodies and wicked claws on its hands and feet the color of tar. The figure was hunched from its misshapen spine and the limbs held one too many joints each.

What disturbed the warlock the most was its face, _his_ face. Rather than the old, kindhearted druid, Merlin beheld his own. At first glance, its face was identical to his, like a mirror reflecting back his image; but the further he looked, the more he saw of its true form. The pupils turned into fierce golden slits and the teeth elongated into sharp points; there appeared to be too much teeth than the mouth was capable of holding. The hair grew out into a wild, tangled mess atop the head, lank, greasy, and covered in grime. Drool dripped from the corner of its mouth, the spittle speckled with blood and bits of flesh. It cocked its head towards the witch, along grey tongue licked excitedly across its chapped lips. Then it turned its head back towards Merlin with a sinister smile stretched wide across its face, eyes held a chilling hunger.

"I am a monster," it whispered in his voice so full of glee that it sickened Merlin.

That was really all it took for Merlin to release his spell and fall to the ground, right hand clenched into his hair and eyes wide with horror. In front of him, Morgana fell to the ground as well, unable to catch herself from the suddenness from which she was released from the wall. She laid there for a moment, gasping and coughing, as she tried to collect herself. The spell that had once encased the King and his knight also fell away as the two stumbled forward, off balanced.

Arthur straightened, confused as the once imposing, _terrifying,_ figure collapsed to the ground and released the witch. Hell, he was surprised Morgana was still alive after the relentless way the servant attacked. Before they could react, whether to attempt to arrest the witch or, the more likely of choice, help their friend, the witch rose to her feet. Her face held a crazed look, one that held nothing but pure contempt for the man knelt on the ground.

Any fear she had once felt about Emrys no longer plagued her. It was not that she was no longer scared but rather she was too angry towards the man to allow the fear to take root any longer. As Morgana rose unsteadily on her feet, she took a step towards Merlin, hand slightly rose as she kept coughing and gasping for breath. She was motivated by her hatred, much the same way the warlock was just minute ago. She would not be made a fool.

She stopped.

It was almost indiscernible but grew in power as the seconds passed.

The immeasurable power that had been choking the life on her was about to be released on a much larger scale.

The witch looked at the defenseless servant longingly, wanting nothing more but to slit his throat and kill him. Though he appeared weak, she knew that her eyes could be deceived. She would not have time to end the man's life before he brought hell upon the citadel and anyone unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity; she didn't even think she could get close to the man without the magic interfering. She would have to retreat, for now, to a location far safer than what Camelot was going to be soon. If Emrys survived, Morgana would finish this, for now she had to go so she may continue on to the day that she killed Merlin for everything he had done.

" **Windas ábiraþ mec. Ásetaþ mec friþhúse, ábiraþ mec ealdornere. Fullfylgaþ**!" Morgana shouted, both her hands thrust above her. Wind blasted through the caverns, forcing Arthur and Gwaine to cover their eyes from its ferocity, as it swirled around the witch. It picked up stray dust and small rocks and soon formed into a cortex that surrounded the witch. An instance later it died down, silence settled in the caves and the witch was gone, transported to only the gods know where.

Arthur wondered why the witch had chosen to leave rather than attack. She had the perfect opportunity to kill all of them with Merlin incapacitated…

That was when the screaming started.


	16. Chapter 16

Aithusa stood aside, trying to catch her breath; her wings drooped to the ground as she stared at what remained of the army ahead. Minutes ago, the chimeras stopped to shake their heads and stumble about. The creatures, those closest to the city, were first affected and spread outwards to the rest, like a visual wave. When the change swept through the battlefield, the men found it easy to kill, the creature's hide no longer difficult to pierce. With whoops of joy intermixed with relief, everyone began the final push to defeating the enemy, the chimeras brought down as if they were nothing more than rabid dogs. In the midst of battle, Kilgharrah stood, grounded, where he mauled all his opponents into pieces, killing several chimeras with each swipe of his claws rather than the occasional kill he had been doing previously. While he preferred to fight from the skies, the long battle took its effect and the elder dragon eventually had to land to rest his tired, old wings.

Of course that was not the only break they were given from the onslaught. Before the obvious signs of the destroyed anchor, they had been struggling to maintain their ground. No matter how much they fought, Aithusa watched from the sky the closing distance between their forces and the tree line. No matter how hard they fought, if they were pushed into the trees, they may as well retreat; outnumbered and overwhelmed, they would be slaughtered in the trees, plus the chimeras held an advantage in the trees. Those creatures could easily navigate the trees with ease rather than their soldiers cumbered by their armor. Neither did they want to endanger the injured; issuing a retreat would allow those in the tents to evacuate before the battle pushed into the camp. It was just as the dragon began to wonder when the Kings and knights would order a retreat when a group, small in comparison to the battling armies, appeared from the city that flanked the opposition.

There must have been quite a group of sorcerers because she noticed a good portion of the group split and stand back, allowing the others to engage in combat. Instead, those separated began spouting their spells; each one targeted either Morgana's men or shielded their own. They held the advantage of not only surprise, which allowed them to take out a good sizable portion of Morgana's army, but also in position away from the chimeras. Morgana had sent her creatures to the battlefront, most of which concentrated on the dragons; none of their enemies imagined that there was a possibility they could be flanked. Though the battle was still a struggle, the reinforcements distracted the opposition enough to prevent the army from being further pushed into the trees. It was enough time for the anchor' destruction and ensured their victory.

When they slaughtered the weakened chimeras, much of Morgana's army turned tail and ran, few returned to the castle while many ran for the forest. Others still laid down their arms in surrender, choosing to give up peacefully rather than attempt to continue fighting. It had shown much to the dragon that Morgana's creatures was what kept her men in line once it became painfully obvious that the witch cared little for them.

The witch's sorcerers also dissolved into chaos. Half the sorcerers proffered peace with hands raised in a placating gesture and the others turned against the sorcerers who pleaded for peace. They cursed their former allies and released their incantations in full. Though they were reluctant, the sorcerers reacted in self-defense and soon inched their way to merge with the opposing side. They would willingly fight for a side more in line with their views than the likes of Morgana. Though they weren't sure if King Arthur had changed his mind about magic, they would rather take their chances and not miss this opportunity to escape Morgana's control.

Now the battle dwindled into small skirmishes across the fields as one by one the men who were unable to flee got captured. Even the sorcerers, who previously were a great threat, soon fell with the combine forces of their ex-allies, druids, and imprisoned sorcerers. Any chimeras that were still alive no longer had enough strength to keep on their feet now that they lost their connection to their own world; the remaining few peppered the ground as they panted in the effort to rise to their feet. Groups of soldiers were already searching through the bodies, dispatching the remaining chimeras while also pulling out the gravely wounded for immediate help or comfort until a mortal wound took them.

With a great push from her hind legs, Aithusa threw herself into the sky to observe the fields from above. Though confident that the battle was for the most part over, she circled above to ensure there was no one else in need of her help. She tilted her wings and caught the warm updraft, launching her further up into the air. High above by the clouds where the air was thin, she began to notice that general state of the weather. Rather than the bright blue skies and occasional fluffy cloud that contrasted against the grime of war, the sky had darkened and the once white clouds grew grey and heavy with rain. In the distance, Aithusa heard the dull rumble of thunder as the wind around her began to intensify.

Something was wrong. The world felt unbalanced. The storm was but an omen of things to come. Powers unknown could be felt drawn towards a single point at the center of the citadel. It weighed Aithusa down and permeated the air with trepidation. Unsure on the cause, Aithusa knew that she must get out of the air before the wind grew further in its ferocity. She would rather not be caught in the storm when the wind was strong enough to rip her wings from her body.

From above, Aithusa spotted the two-legged creature, one of the knights, and directed her body towards him. She pulled in her wings and allowed herself to descent before opening her wings out and giving them a flap to cushion her landing. The knight, the one she knew as Leon, looked up to her with a frown on his face.

"Aithusa?"

"Sir Leon," Aithusa said and greeted the knight with a slight bow of her head, "How are matters here on the ground?"

"We are still clearing the fields of Morgana's men, why? Is something wrong?"

"I don't know," Aithusa murmured, her eyes searching the skies. "Something's bringing in the storm."

"What-" Leon couldn't finish his question for at that moment the world began to quiver. The rumbling of thunder in the sky matched the rumblings in the ground where the ground seemed to shake beneath his feet. The force of the earthquake left Leon placing a hand on Aithusa side to steady him while everyone in the battlefield began to panic. Up ahead, clouds accumulated around the castle, swirled into the dark spirals; the unnatural formation unleashed a torrential downpour on the city as lightning struck the ground. Already, the two saw the glow of fires where the lightning landed. The wind grabbed at the soldiers, snatching away everything not secured.

Aithusa kept her wings firmly tucked to her sides and hunched her body into the wind. She glanced at the knight who took shelter besides her before turning her head towards where she last saw Kilgharrah. It appeared the elder dragon also managed to fold his wings before the storm had an opportunity to snatch them; however, his head was directed to the citadel with eyes that swam with horror. He knew what was happening, enough to scare him. That alone frightened the younger dragon.

Whatever Aithusa had felt in the air doubled in its intensity; magic itself was crying out, it made her scales itch. While the world around them appeared to dissolve into chaos, she could not squash the rising fear of the unknown cause. Magic in its purest form was a fickle force and when the air seemed saturated by its presence, when the very land felt threatened to collapse under the strain, it suddenly clicked in her mind what occurred. Something upset the balance, or more specifically, someone.

Only one could have such a connection to magic and only one was powerful enough to cause such a disturbance. The anchor may have been destroyed and the army gone, but the danger seemed to have increased. The dragon stood by the knight and the two looked on, one in confusion and one in concern towards the citadel at the center of the city. As intense as it was in the field, it appeared to be worse closer to the eye of the storm. They could not imagine how intense the storm was in the city and could only watch in shock as the force of the earthquake and storm began to crumble to city walls. A large section of the citadel tower broke away, exposing the stairwell inside; a stray thought flashed through Leon's mind as he hoped the debris hadn't landed on anyone.

Camelot was falling.

* * *

The screams that tore from the warlock's throat were unlike any Arthur heard in his life. It was one so full of pain and desperation, it made Arthur want to cover his ears from the harsh sound. He did not understand what happened. He had watched as Merlin squeezed the life out of Morgana, and just moments away from stepping in to stop the brutal display when the warlock's concentration was deterred away from the witch and to the empty space beside him. His eyes had widened in terror before he collapsed to the ground. Whether or not he was relieved that Merlin held back before mercilessly killing the witch, Arthur knew that something had gone wrong in that moment.

While distracted by Morgana, Merlin had curled himself into a ball, forehead pressed into the ground. His hand clenched loosely into his hair while his doubled over position crushed his limp left arms; his eyes were wide, dilated to the point that the blues of his eyes were just a sliver and the pupil dominated. Those eyes seemed to focus at a point ahead of him, what he was seeing was beyond Arthur; perhaps it was what caused his initial reaction. Whatever color managed to return to his face when they treated his injuries drained leaving behind deathly pale skin. He tightened his body further into a ball while his chest heaved, drawing in as much air possible past the screams that reverberated through his throat.

Then the screaming stopped.

His breath caught in his throat.

It was but a few seconds of calm, the calm that brought a silence that bore down heavily onto Arthur. In that moment time seemed to freeze as Merlin's body tensed and stilled, mouth still agape in his silent cries. Those eyes began to drift; panic grew as his glance swept through the room.

A slight tremble ran down his still body.

Then his eyes flared gold, brighter than it had ever achieved previously. Though the gold signified the use of magic of a sorcerer, nothing prepared the King for the shock wave that emanated from Merlin and swept through the entire cavern, throwing both him and Gwaine several feet away into the air. The knight landed dangerously close to the ledge while Arthur flew into the wall, forcing out the breath from his body and leaving him dazed on the ground. Gwaine tried to get back up, to try to make his way to the pained warlock, but barely managed a single step before the world shook from beneath his feet and caused him to crash back to the ground.

Arthur froze in fear as it felt like the entire world was collapsing around him. The walls of the cavern began to crack and crumble while the stalactites that hung from the ceiling broke away and fell the ground, splitting the stone. When the first one fell, Arthur's eye shot to the ceiling and he pushed himself off the floor and ran to the wall. Gwaine saw him move and he too ran for the King from the edge, away from the danger of falling rocks. Though the previous blow and the earthquake unsteadied them both, they managed to reach the edge of the room, in the entrance to the cavern. While not beneath the stalactites, Arthur vaguely wondered of the possibility of the hall caving in as he placed a hand against the wall to keep upright as the tremors continued.

"Arthur" Gwaine said, his voice held an edge of hysteria, "we need to do _something_."

"And do what?" Arthur shouted, his anger taking over to deal with the fear.

"I don't know! I don't like the way he was screaming earlier and it feels like he's going to bring roof down on us!"

"I-" Arthur stopped before he could form his thoughts. From the corner of his mind, as though waiting for this particular moment, he remembered the words of a young girl; a seer who found it important for Arthur to know of her vision.

_The power that you seek is your hope; in it is Albion's salvation._

The druids called him his protector and, by extension, Camelot's as well. His compassion was unparalleled and he stood fast to his belief. He held his chin high against all dangers, not even once had he left Arthur's side in the face of danger. Not even once.

In Albion's times of need, Merlin would always be there.

_However, it is not to be taken lightly. It is like a double-edged sword, when not treated with care, it can cause more harm than you can ever imagine._

Taken, imprisoned, and tortured for four months by no other than Morgana, even Arthur's strongest knights would not be able to stay sane after such an experience. The King wondered how the servant was coherent enough to speak to them, even when they treated his wounds; after so much suffering, how could he still be here fighting?

Arthur felt himself move forward, his legs taking hesitant steps as he navigated through the room. Gwaine tried to hold him back, screaming that it was too dangerous, that they needed a plan, but Arthur brushed him aside. When the knight tried to follow him, Arthur gestured for him to remain where he stood while his eyes stayed glued to the warlock at the center of the room.

Gusts of wind began to pick up and swirled around the room and the rocks that had fallen previously were airborne again, making the trek to the servant treacherous for the King. Still he moved forward, arm lifted to protect his face and crouched with legs spread wide to maintain a stable stance as to not fall from the quakes and wind.

_Beware, my Lord, that when the time comes, when all is beyond control, only one thing can calm the storm._

He needed to stop the warlock, but how? In the midst of the whirlwind, Arthur did not know where his sword was and even if he did, he would rather not run his friend through with the blade. Killing his friend was not the solution, not when such an action would not only anger the druids for killing such a notable figure in the prophecy, but also instill a guilt in him that would consume him for the rest of his life. Yet only thing he had was himself and Arthur doubt he could get close to the warlock.

Or could he?

How often had Merlin and others around Arthur reminded him of the servant's loyalty? This was the man who lived in the very heart of the kingdom who would see him dead to ensure Arthur was safe. He could have left for a kingdom friendlier towards his kind, such as Nemeth, rather than suffer in silence. He had the power to fall the biggest armies and not once had he thought of aiding fellow sorcerers against the Pendragons. The one who tagged along on missions and quests, defenseless for even if he did have magic under his command, secrecy limited him; he supported Arthur at his lowest and spoke his mind when the King was at his worst. He was the most loyal of all of Camelot. Even though he was just a servant, his loyalty put those of his best knights to shame.

_I'm happy to be your servant, till the day I die_

He would always be there, working to his fullest in what matters most. He always complained, yet he never did. He was always clumsy and lazy, yet he worked harder than anyone did in the royal household. He mocked and insulted the King, yet spoke words of wisdom and encouraged the compassion in Arthur. He only gave the King the respect he deserved, based on his actions rather than titles. He served no other and neither wanted to serve another.

And he would _never_ harm his King.

Even until the end of his days, even as he took his last breaths, Merlin would always be loyal.

With one final burst of strength, Arthur pushed his way through the rocks and wind, the stones scratched at his face and slammed into his body where bruises would likely form, and fell to his knees beside the warlock. Merlin had not moved an inch from where he was curled. His breathes were shallow and eyes were still gold from the magic, burning just as fiercely as before. Though Arthur never used magic in his life, he could feel the power that bled out of the warlock, feeding energy into the elements around them.

"Merlin!" Arthur called out as he rested his hand firmly on the man's shoulder. He ducked his head beside his friend and kept his back to the brunt of the rocks. The elements continued to buffet against him, but none reached the warlock next to him.

The corner of Merlin's eye twitched but otherwise he made no other reaction. Though the wind continued around him, the rocks stopped crashing into him, encouragement Arthur needed to continue.

"Damnit, _Mer_ lin, listen to me," Arthur said, louder than before as he leaned closer to Merlin's ears. It was enough to cause the servant to turn his head, neck stiff, towards the King.

Merlin's lips quivered as he said, in a soft voice, "Arthur…"

"Merlin, you need to stop this."

"I-I can't"

"Yes you can."

"N-no."

"Merl-"

"I CAN'T DO THIS ANY MORE!" Merlin screamed. The storm only intensified around them, forcing Gwaine further into the hallway and Arthur closer to Merlin. While he was no longer being pelted, the gusts of wind weren't comfortable.

Tears began to fall from his wide, golden eyes as Merlin spoke again, "I don't want to do this anymore. I can't, I just can't"

"What are you talking about?"

"I can't keep going, not like this, never like this. I'm just like her, just like Morgana. A _monster_."

Arthur took a sharp breath as he realized what happened.

Nothing scared Merlin, nothing but those that threaten those he loved. What more could cause such fear in the servant but the very idea that Merlin himself was dangerous? That he was a monster like all the others; it would like living nightmare for him. Should a monster or avenging sorcerer threatened the safety of Camelot they must be stopped. If he became that monster then he must accept his fate; like all the others, he must stop himself the best way he could.

Suddenly, Arthur realized just how dire this situation was.

Merlin wasn't thinking. He was lost in his own mind and horrors brought on from the effects of the torture, from the effects of that dark bracelet. Torture broke down a man, made him believe he was insignificant and left him nothing more but a sniveling mess. What happened when such an idea, combined with the deepest regrets and fears, was placed on someone such as Merlin, the most powerful warlock on the land?

Gwaine's off-handed comment was right; he was bringing down the ceiling, forcing a cave in.

He was trying to kill himself to rid the kingdom of another monster, to protect everyone as he had done in the past, even if the one he was protecting them from was himself. He was frightened, and while his magic protected him from the projectiles, out of some kind of instinctual need of self-preservation, it would be too much of a strain to save three full-grown men if the cave were to collapse. Arthur doubted Merlin would cause his and Gwaine's death; if he allowed the warlock to continue, he knew only them two would be the only one climbing from the rubble.

Arthur needed to stop this.

"No."

"W-wha-"

"I said no," Arthur said again, more firmly. "You are many things, Merlin, but a monster you are not."

"How would you know," Merlin said, bitter. His body began to rock back and forth and curled into a tighter ball as if trying to make himself as small as possible.

"I may not know everything, but I know you. You are strong and kind, clumsy and brave, idiotic and wise. You are loyal," Arthur said, his voice shook with his emotions. "Tell me, does any of that describe a monster?"

"But-" Merlin started, his eyes clenched. Suddenly the wind dropped and the rocks stilled while smaller quakes continued, as if waiting on bated breaths for their master's command. The magic saturated the air and left a heavy feeling as Arthur placed a firm hand on the servant's shoulder.

"You are an absolute idiot! Have you ever met an idiotic monster?" Arthur joked past the lump in his throat and attempted a small smile.

"How would you know? You have no idea what I have done," he shook his head violently and agitated his magic into action once more. In that second, Gwaine had attempted to approach the two but was forced back under the shelter of the hallway in irritation.

"You have done enough, so much more than anyone should ever do. We all make mistakes, whatever transgression you have done in the past were done with the best intentions, you are too kind to harm without cause," the King grabbed ahold of the servant's chin, stilling him.

"The same could be said about Morgana," Merlin jerked his head away from Arthur and disentangled his hand from his hair; he stared at his palm. "There is blood, so much blood."

"No, you're mistaken," Arthur reached for his hand and tugged it to him. He inspected it with care, before he looked up with determined eyes. "I see nothing but hope and kindness in these hands, not blood, _never_ blood. You have done more than your duty asks of you; you protected Camelot and kept us safe from Morgana's actions. Now, it's time for you to rest."

"What about the-"

Again Arthur interrupted, "Don't worry, I can take care of everything else, the worst is over. I know you never follow my orders but follow this one: rest"

It looked as if he was about to protest but the tension drained from his body as Merlin's eyes began to droop. His right hand went lax and fell into his lap before sliding off to rest against the ground. While his body relaxed, he began to tilt over. Arthur's hand turned from comforting to support as he caught Merlin before he fully fell on his side.

The gold finally began to dim, all around the pair the wind died down, and the rocks fell to the ground. Beneath them, the tremors also halted, leaving the cavern strangely quiet. With one last flicker, Merlin's eyes returned to their normal blues and his eyelids slipped shut. Arthur pulled the servant closer to him, brushed the dark stands of hair from the warlock's brow, and watched, with relief, as Merlin's breath began to even out. Though he was still far from healthy, the King knew that he would survive once he was brought under Gaius' care.

"Thank you, friend," Arthur whispered, "for saving us again."

* * *

There were many injured, far too many, enough to occupy Hunith's time to give much needed aid to the men and women under her care. She worked for well after the battle had ended, caring for the steady stream of injured brought in by their fellow soldiers. Everyone had an injury of some sort, from harmless bruises and cuts to the more life-threatening gouges and rends. Much as she wanted to quickly finish, she knew she could not rush through proper care, not if she wanted to avoid chances of infections and unnecessary pain for her patients.

Once the flow ebbed and the healers gained a semblance of control over the situation in the infirmary, Hunith snuck from the tent and sprinted through the woods towards the city. It had been nearly an hour since Arthur had entered the tent bringing news of the events at the battlefield and city. Covered in grime, Hunith watched with a watery smile as his tired eyes softened in relief as he spotted Gwen standing in the corner of the infirmary next to a cot; no one moved to help the still figure in that cot, it was already too late to save him.

Arthur noted the tension of the Queen's shoulders and started towards her until he spotted Hunith. With slight hesitance, he turned to the village woman, grim determination set on his face when he approached her. With carefully chosen words, he told her they had found Merlin and that he had left her son safely under the care of a healer in the citadel. It took all of her self-control not to sprint from the room then. Finally free from the camp, Hunith couldn't have waited any longer to see her son.

With adrenaline rushing through her veins, Hunith did not notice the curious and wary looks shot towards her, her eyes remained firmly on the looming city ahead. She could not keep her speed for long and stumbled right at the edge of the forest, landing on her hands; fallen branches scraped her palms and slightly tore her skirt. She paid it no mind as she shot back to her feet and chose to go at a brisk walk, bordering at a jog; she wanted to get there as fast as she could without wasting time by falling every few feet.

In the city, she dodged the scurrying people clearing the debris from the street, launched herself up the castle steps, and charged down the hallway until she reached the familiar wooden doors of her old friend's chambers, where Arthur claimed to have brought Merlin to. Pulling the door open, she jerked to a stop, her eyes searching desperately for the one person she yearned to see since the knights had shown upon her doorsteps. Inside, she saw a young girl grinding herbs with a pestle and mortal, a small furrow creased between her eyebrows. At the sound of Hunith's entrance, the girl looked up, smiled, but remained wary of the woman.

"Hello?"

"Whe-"

"Hunith!" The two looked to the back room where Gwaine stood at the doorway. He had heard someone enter the chambers and wanted to be sure that it was nothing of import.

"Sir Gwaine," Hunith smiled, though strained. It did not take long for the frown to return. "Arthur told me he… where's Merlin? Where's my son?"

The girl's eyes widened while Gwaine's lips tightened into a thin line. He sighed, rubbed his face before he gestured to the room behind him. Hunith felt a lump in her throat as she climbed the steps and brushed past the knight, who stepped aside and joined Alison in the main chambers. He did not want to disturb the woman's reunion with her son.

Hunith glanced around the room, taking in the lack of clutter she usually associated to her son's living space. Rather than the precious few articles of clothing scattered haphazardly on the floor, the floorboards appeared to have been recently swept. The small cabinet set into the wall, usually with doors ajared, was firmly closed; she knew that if she were to open it, she would see the organized belongings of whomever Morgana had chosen to live in this space. It felt wrong in an odd sense, an unfamiliarity in the room that her son had called home for years.

In the center of the room, laid atop the bed with thin blankets pulled over and tucked around, was Merlin. His skin was paler than usual and his face flushed with fever. Peeking from beneath the covers, she could spot the whites of bandages that wrapped his torso and shoulders; his left arm appeared to be folded over across his chest while his right was stretched, straight, outside the sheets, by his side. By the bed, on the opposite end of the room, was an empty wooden chair, perhaps where Gwaine had chosen to keep watch over his friend.

She stumbled closer, moved around the bed, and fell into the chair; she pushed the ground with her fee, bring both her and the chair closer to the bed. Her hand, shaking, reached for her son's while her other brushed the lank locks of hair from his face. Closer, she noted the gaunt cheeks and dark bruises beneath each eye; it appeared he had lost weight he didn't have to lose in his imprisonment. She ran her fingers through his hair, watching the downward twitch of his lips and the movement of his eyes from beneath his eyelids.

With a sigh, she dropped her head, her forehead resting against Merlin. Relief filled her as she felt the rises and falls of his chest beneath, though it was short lived, seeing as the warlock wasn't in the best condition; it would be a long while before he was back at full strength. Tears leaked from her closed eyes, absorbed into the blanket as she stayed there, now with both her hands clutched at Merlin's hand as she cried. The woman sat there for the gods know how long, only that she was happy to finally have her son back.

"Mother?"

Her head shot up and found wide blues as Merlin tilted his head to the side to watch her. Disbelief filled those eyes as if he could not accept or dare to hope that what he was seeing was true. He withdrew his hand from his mother's and struggled to sit up right, his arms not quite strong enough to push himself up. Hunith tried to keep him from moving, but the desperate shake of his head made her relent and help him instead. Sitting upright, his arm rested across his lap, right hand twitched nervously while his left arm settled into a sling that wrapped around the opposite shoulder; the slight hunch of his back the only evidence the warlock gave that he was still in pain.

Merlin looked his mother up and down. His eyes took in her every features, distrust replaced the disbelief while tears pooled in his eyes. Hunith, her eyes widening at the reaction, stretched her hand out to rest it against his cheek and gave him a reassuring smile, silently telling him she was here; like instincts, she felt the need it was important for him to understand the notion.

That contact was all he needed to convince the warlock his mother was there. A smile broke across his face as the tears fell and he slumped forward. Not needing any more encouragement, Hunith wrapped her arms around her son and drew him into a tight embrace. It had been far too long since they last saw each other; time spent worrying and despairing over each other's safety. Together they sat, not needing any words to express the relief, only the comfort of each other's presence, to know they were safe.

* * *

They kept silent vigil over the fires that burned in the courtyard that morning. A funeral fit for the most noble of people, people who gave their lives for the kingdom. There were funeral pyres built for even the lowliest people; it would take a while to burn the bodies, but the respect must be paid. At one side of the courtyard stood the druids as well, heads bowed as they honored the death of their own people while on the opposite was King Arthur and Queen Guinevere. The Queen's face was stained in tears and her eyes red as she stood straight, chin held high, and watched as her brother's body was burned upon the pyre.

They had dressed their dead in the best of clothing, or at least the best they could manage; knights who had fallen were clad in the armor they wore as they braved the battle. Much like the other knights, Elyan was laid on his back on a pile of wood, straight, and with his hands wrapped around the hilt of his sword. His cape, the crimson of the Pendragon colors and crest stitched on the front, was arranged around him with care. The knight's face was peaceful, with a small smile across his face for he died knowing he had protected his sister. When the pyre was lit, Gwen's tears only fell down harder while Arthur's own glistened.

He thought back to when he had found Gwen after the battle, relieved from his fears to see her alive and safe. He remembered rushing into the tents, searching for his wife as he was surrounded with the mournful cries of the dead's families and friends that accompanied the screams of pain. It was a while after the last of the skirmishes and still the men were bringing in the dead. They did not comment to their King when he stood in the middle of it all, but merely pointed to the direction in which he could find his Queen. Arthur strode to that direction, his heart clenched as all around him he could hear his people's pain. No matter who won, war always led to this, and while they were able to reclaim Camelot, the King felt as if he had still lost in the end.

Arthur remembered when he found Gwen, still covered in the grime and blood from her own battle as she held tightly onto her brother's hand. As he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, she turned and buried her head into Arthur's shoulders, and her silent tears turned into sobs. The King wrapped both his arms around Gwen, drawing her close, and buried his face into her hair as he allowed the day's events wash over him.

He felt incredibly tired at that time, especially after he emerged from the cavern, Merlin held between him and Gwaine again, and swamped by the people who had finally left their rooms. Nobles and servants alike cried out in relief and joy at seeing their king and receiving the news that Morgana had finally been driven out from Camelot. They knew that there was much to do, damages to fix, from Morgana's reign but they wanted to celebrate their newfound freedom. Arthur smiled and nodded to each one and refused one of the servants who offered to take Merlin from him. Arthur wanted to make sure himself that the unconscious warlock was safe in his own room.

He pushed his way through the crowds, issuing orders to commence the rebuilding of the city before he made his way to Gaius' chambers. There he found Alison who gasped at the state Merlin was in and rushed to the servant side where Arthur and Gwaine and laid him on the cot. She took over immediately, checking the wounds that had reopened while also inspecting his shoulders, all the while Gwaine stood by and watched over her. The knight's eyes assured Arthur that he would keep Merlin safe as Alison worked over him. He wondered how Hunith reacted to seeing her son so injured for the first time after she had gone to see the servant.

Then, after checking on Guinevere, he continued the painful process pulling the kingdom together post-battle. They continued to collect the dead, burning the bodies of the enemy while taking the injured, friend or foe, to the tents. After meeting with the other two Kings, it was decided to maintain the infirmary at the camp due to its proximity to the field and the people too injured to be safely transported; many of the women and children travelled between the campsite and city to bring sufficient medication to the wounded. Leon and those who came out of the fight relatively unscathed kept those of Morgana's army under watch; the sorcerers, however, proved to be a different matter altogether.

Many were uncomfortable with the druids' presence but did not comment in part for the help but also because they were the only ones capable of keeping Morgana's loyal sorcerers under lock and key. They managed to capture most of them and those who had never wanted to serve Morgana stood by to help, nervous of the distrustful eyes casted upon them. They did not want to fight and in fact seemed to want to aid those they had harmed as a means of redemption. At the head of their group was the sorcerer who had protected the Queen.

When Arthur met the man, he gave the odd sorcerer his gratitude, causing the sorcerer, who introduced himself as Aubrey, to fidget awkwardly. The man appeared uncomfortable around him, perhaps due to his status or connection to Uther. Somewhat eased with the knowledge that the one leading the group had saved Guinevere, the King decided to let them be for now. They had other matters to worry about and as long as the sorcerers kept the peace, Arthur didn't mind letting them be for now. Instead, he could focus on the other prisoners and the damages to the kingdom, not to mention the rest of funerals in the coming days.

People began to leave the courtyard, having paid their respects and gratitude to the men who gave their lives so that they may live free once more. In the end, there were only two groups left standing in the courtyard, the royal family and the druids. The druids were silent with their heads bowed as they mourned their chieftain and the six others who died in battle, including Samuel who succumbed to his wounds hours after the chimeras were killed.

Together they stood; equal in the loss they had suffered.

* * *

Arthur hesitated; his fist hovered over the door to the physician's chambers. He had not seen Merlin since the cavern a few days before since he was swept away in the politics that followed in the wake of battle. It was not until hours ago when he watched King Rodor and King Lot leave to their respective kingdoms with their men, holding promises to return for celebrations and the rewriting of treaties.

The King gave a sigh before he allowed his fist to knock swiftly against the door followed by him stepping inside. From the doorway, Arthur took in the room. Aithne, who Arthur gave her own chambers in the citadel close to Gaius' so that she may properly learn medicine and healing arts from said physician, worked a pestle and mortar under the old man's watchful gaze. At the sound of the lock, Gaius turned his attention from his new apprentice to the King.

"Sire?"

"Sorry to bother you, is…"

"He's in his room, with Hunith," Gaius smiled and gestured with his head to the door.

"Thank you Gaius."

Arthur strode across to Merlin's room. Again, he faced hesitation but didn't allow it to stop him this time, not when Gaius and Alison could see his uncertainty. He entered the room and beheld the sight of the two people inside.

Merlin lay in the bed, still pale, the bruises beneath his lidded eyes were darker from his past sleepless nights. Arthur heard how the man suffered nightmares; it was not uncommon for him to be found tossing and turning in bed, aggravating his wounds that caused him to wake. Bandages still wrapped around the worse of the injuries that magic could not easily remedy, particularly the carved dragon. The rest of his exposed flesh was marred with the pink skin of newly healed gashes and the mottled colors of fading bruises. The plethora of wounds served only to remind the King of the trials Merlin faced during the past months.

Seated beside him with a hand resting lightly on the warlock's forearm and head on his shoulder was Hunith; her other hand caressed the side of his head, with fingers running through his hair. With the amount of wounded men who needed Gaius' care, the physician reluctantly treated them over Merlin, comforted that Hunith and Alison could handle it with occasionally asking the physician for help. Some druids, under Arthur's request, visited the unconscious warlock and began mending the man's shoulders. While the joints had not reached full recovery, the King was glad that his servant would eventually regain the use of his arms.

The first day, the fever burned hotter and many feared he would not survive the night. Hunith gave him a concoction of caraway and honey with water for the fever while Gaius inspected the infected flesh of Merlin's chest. While Gaius prepared a salve of yarrow, Alison cleaned the wound, her small hands careful as she wiped the grit off with a rag boiled in water. Once applied, Gaius left aside the container of the salve for the women to use while he was at the infirmary. Together the pair worked, cleaning, treating, and dressing the other injuries that covered the warlock's body. They forced fed him broth to provide the body with much needed nutrients while washing it down with water to keep the man hydrated. They watched over as the warlock drifted in and out of consciousness along with a few others, such as Gwaine who never failed to visit at least once a day.

"Sire," Hunith greeted as she began to stand up. Her smile was tired and worry-lines etched into her face, though not as prominent as it was before the battle. Arthur gestured for her to remain seated, not wanting to disturb the two, but the woman had other plans. "I was about to go and get some food for him, would you like to stay here while I go?"

"Of course," Arthur said, giving a nod of thanks as the woman left the room. He vaguely wondered if she knew he wanted to speak to Merlin alone. The King tuned to the now empty seat and sat himself in it. He rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, as he watched the manservant. He did not know how long he sat there lost in his thoughts until a soft voice broke through.

"Arthur."

The King focused on Merlin's face whose tired eyes stared back. His voice was still hoarse from abuse and his eyes half lidded for he was still shaking the sleep from his eyes. His right hand twitched from where it laid closest to Arthur.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered back. They sat in companionable silence, neither wanting to broach the painful topics; however, after a while, Arthur knew there was no point in delaying the inevitable. He sighed and continued. "We need to talk."

"I know," Merlin looked away, pausing briefly at the corner of the room before turning fully to the small window set in the wall by his cabinet.

"How are you doing?"

"I'm fine-"

"Don't lie."

A flash of irritation, "I'm coping."

"If you need any… one to talk to…" Arthur began, fidgeting in discomfort in such tentative comments. However, Merlin chuckled and stopped Arthur from finishing with a slight shake of his head.

"That sounds like something girly! If I needed someone to talk to, I'll just go to Gwen. You're too prattish to be much help."

"You're too much of an idiot to treat your King with the proper respect," Arthur laughed as well before his face darkened and he grew somber. "Were you every going to tell me?"

"Eventually," Merlin responded quietly.

"When?"

"I," he paused, "I wanted to wait for the perfect opportunity when you were more forgiving towards magic."

Arthur snorted, "So you chose in a middle of a battle?"

"What other choice did I have? We needed get you out of there and there was no time to cower in the shadows and hope you didn't notice."

Arthur looked down, "Will you tell me now?"

"Tell you what, that I have magic? That I'm a sorcerer?" Merlin laughed again. "You already know."

"No, not that. Will you tell me all that you have done since coming to Camelot?"

Merlin sober up instantly his eyes became distant as he allowed himself to be lost in memories, "I have done much since I began to serve you, it will take some time."

Arthur unclasped his hands and crossed his arms across his chest as he leaned back in the chair and gave his servant a no nonsense look, "I have time."

"There is a lot I am not proud of."

"We all make mistakes in our lives, you are no different"

Merlin sighed and he turned his head back to the King. His blue eyes found Arthur's, "Very well, Sire."

Thus, Merlin started, his progress slow going as to not strain his still recovering voice. He began speaking of when he first entered Camelot, the execution he saw on his first day followed by saving Gaius from his fall off the balcony. He told Arthur how he really saved him at the feast and all the other times he saved him then after and of the nights he snuck to seek advice from the dragon. The warlock spoke of saving Uther and the kingdom when vengeful sorcerers contested for power and vengeance. He named each and every one he stopped, including the likes of Nimueh and Morgause and even spoke of his regret over Morgana's change of heart, how he pushed her away in fear. He talked of the deals he made and the consequences of each; the times when he and Morgana battled each other in secrecy and when the first druid called him by Emrys. For every triumph he told, he confessed his regrets and failures.

During all of it, Arthur sat and listened. He did not interrupt nor move but absorbed each piece of information with equal intensity. He made not a single comment, though various emotions sparked in his eyes at certain revelations. The King was not known for his patience but at that moment, he kept quiet and just listened. When the warlock finished, his voice hoarse from speaking too long, Arthur wasn't sure how to respond.

He was at lost as to what to say so he said the only thing he knew that mattered, "Thank you."

"W-what?" Merlin stuttered.

"I said thank you," Arthur said, his eyes honest, "for everything."

Merlin shook his head again, "I don't deserve it."

"Yes, you do," Arthur disagreed, "and much more."

"I've killed hundreds of people."

"And you saved thousands more twice over," Arthur snapped, silencing Merlin. "You once told me I must learn to listen and so you must as well. None of it was your fault; you only tried the best you could do with what you had."

"I could have done more, I could hav-"

"Stop," Arthur said, exasperated, "None of what happened before and now was your fault."

"I just- I can't- I-I," Merlin stuttered as tears began to well up in his eyes and he finally said, "I just so very, very tired, Arthur. I feel like I can't take it anymore."

Arthur's heart clenched as his friend repeated the same words he spoke in the cave. With hesitation, unsure on how the warlock would take his gesture and uncomfortable for he was not accustomed to consoling anyone, the King reached out and pulled Merlin up into a sitting position. From there he crushed the man into his shoulder. For a second the servant tensed, unsure on how to respond until he released the tension and leaned into the embrace. Beneath his hands, Arthur felt Merlin shudder as he dissolved into sobs.

As the tears soaked through his tunic, Arthur hated the helplessness he felt as the man he viewed to be one of the strongest and bravest man broke down before him.


	17. Chapter 17

Merlin twisted a ring around his fingers; his eyes skimmed across the landscape, hungry for the lush greenery of the forest edges, with laborers tending to the scars the battle left on the fields, to the bustle of the citizens in the marketplace as they haggled for a fair deal. If it wasn't for the still painfully obvious damage that the city still bore, from crumbled buildings and charred grounds to the people that still flooded the castle halls for aide, Merlin would be hard pressed to believe a battle as devastating as the one against Morgana had occurred weeks ago. It panged him to know much of the damage on the city he caused when he lost his grasp on control. The only comfort from the whole ordeal was the fact that the damaged buildings were the worst of the consequences.

He glanced down at the ring that glinted in the late afternoon sun; he couldn't help but be at awe at its presence. Carved into the silver he made out two figures. The first of which was the ever-familiar dragon, wings flared out and mouth spread wide in preparation to release its flames. Its body twisted upward, as if the dragon was rushing towards the sky; it curved along the side of the ring facing the direction opposite. Beside the beast, with swings spread wide, swooping below across from the dragon was a hawk; the beaks opened in mid-screech and talons spread. What made the hawk even more fascinating, however, were the intricate designs that curled, twisted, and radiated from the hawk. The tendrils twisted into a dance unique to the feathered animal, reaching to all sides of the sigil. It gave the bird a much larger presence and served to not only symbolize the power the bird of prey held but also accentuate that of the dragon.

The ring was a gift from both the King and Queen as a sign of peace and gratitude. It served as a way for Arthur to take the first steps towards peace with the magical community while also, on a more personal level, repaying but a small portion of his self-appointed debt. The warlock scoffed at the idea of the King being indebted to him, but speaking out against it only irritated Arthur. Though Merlin didn't want to receive gifts and praises, only acceptance, from his friends and family, he accepted the ring in the end. Not for payment but for its other value for one could not enter nobility without a seal to represent their name; as the newly appointed Court Sorcerer, Merlin had ascended the hierarchy, much like his friends before him, and further proved Arthur lack of care for a person's standing in society.

The ex-servant found it silly, gaining a position in nobility. Honestly, he could go without the title, continue as the manservant for the King; as long as Arthur granted him the freedom to deal with any crisis dealing with magic, he did not care how people treated him or what his job entitled him to do as a member of the royal household. Still he had a point and the warlock knew that for the people of Camelot to trust him, he must serve as an official advisor to the King. No one would follow the word of a servant.

His promotion happened the moment Gaius grudgingly deemed Merlin healthy enough to be able to leave his room, though many of the knights kept watch over the warlock to ensure he was as okay as he claimed to be. Arthur had warned them that Merlin's condition might not be as great as the warlock led them to believe, glossing over details to protect his privacy. He doubt Merlin would appreciate him for telling the knights of his break down.

Of course, Merlin had pushed for his release from his room. To him, it became a prison; he would rather help with the rebuilding of the city than lounge around in his room all day, especially after being barred from the sun for months. Many times during his bed rest, Arthur approached him for advice on how he should handle various situations that sprouted from the new acceptance of the magical community. One of which was the prisoners from Morgana's army.

The people were uneasy during those days the sorcerers were kept in the dungeons; past experiences led them to having hard time believing that Camelot was capable of detaining magic wielders. Many individuals who felt such insecurities chose to recognize the druids as allies, most of them soldiers protected by their enchantments; the rest grudgingly accepted their presence, more for keeping the enemy sorcerers under watch than acceptance of magic. Then there were those who surrendered and begged for peace, sorcerers who Morgana forced onto her side. They were guarded as well, in part to ensure they were not lying about their true loyalties but to also protect them from the people who would be more than happy to watch their blood spill on the streets.

Merlin recognized the difficulties Arthur faced in such a controversial topic. He told his King that he needed to judge them not by what Uther's law deemed but by their own actions and motivations. If they were genuine in their reluctance and hatred towards Morgana, then they were merely victims of war and thus should be treated as so. If they sought for blood, killed with glee and stood firm against Camelot forces, they should be judged and punished as a war criminal, though not necessarily executed.

Even with his advice, Arthur was uneasy with dealing with the sorcerers for he was unaccustomed with dealing with them outside of execution. Eventually, he called upon Merlin to participate in the talks during the early days of rebuilding. They had convened at the throne room, around a large round table that stood at the center of the room; Arthur finally decided to make the addition as a symbol of the changing times as he began his long, difficult effort to removing the anti-magic laws providing equality upon all citizens. Gwaine offered his help and together, with Gaius, the two carefully led Merlin to one of the seats, careful not to jar his still healing shoulders or reopen any wounds.

Seated at the table were Arthur, the Queen, his closest knights, and the council along with the druid leaders, Cyric, Orian, the newly appointed chieftain Briec. Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, nervous over the glares the council men shot him, Aubrey stared wide eye at the people he had once stood opposite from on the battlefield. Together they sat, ready to discuss the fate of not only the captured sorcerers but also the fate of all in the magic community.

"Welcome friends," Arthur announced, as he stood tall before the gathering. He met the eyes of each person who lined the table and paused for a moment when he reached Merlin. The King held fire not like any the warlock had ever seen; it proved to him that Arthur truly wanted to try to change things for the better.

Merlin was the first to break away as he glanced down at his calloused hand. He managed to get a week worth of rest before Arthur called the meeting. While he was still battered and bruised, recovering from the trauma, Merlin was just as determined to be in these talks. Still, he could not help but shiver when the shadows of the room wavered, threatening to reach for him again. Tendrils made constant appearances and created an ominous cloud that hovered over Merlin like an executioner's axe; it's presence threatened to drag him into despair. He knew time would heal all wounds, he hoped that also extended to the wounds of his mind and his heart.

"Before we begin, I wish to make a request from all of you," Arthur continued, interrupting Merlin from his thoughts and causing him to lurch his eyes back to his King, "to keep what we discuss today amongst yourselves. Many of the topics are sensitive in nature. While I will like to believe the people of this kingdom will be understanding in the upcoming changes, you all must know that nothing can be quite that simple."

Once everyone around the table expressed their agreement, the King spoke again, "The first matter I want to go over is where we must go about with the sorcerers who aided Morgana. I recognize that quite a few of them are victims but unfortunately, people still fear them. I also cannot deny that it will be difficult to identify the true victims from the false."

"They should be executed for their crimes," cried out a lord, Heilbert, who had visited Camelot the same week that Morgana invaded. Much of his time, he spent hiding in his room, afraid of standing in the witch's way. "The law is there for a reason and there is no place in Camelot for the likes of magic!"

"Magic was not the cause of heartache but its wielder! Without our aid, our magic, you would not be here now speaking so freely," Orian argued, his tone held the impatience he held against the lord.

"Magic-" Heilbert began with a snarl, ready to fight tooth and nail. Arthur was about to step in, his anger on a low simmer as he tried to not allow the spiteful words affect him when someone else chose to interrupt the man.

"I'll hope that, after so much bloodshed, we could come together to finally find peace," Aubrey spoke up for the first time, his fingers tapped against the table and eyes shifted nervously around the table as the men turned to him. Arthur gave him a calculating look, trying to discern the man's loyalty. While he was grateful for his part in the battle, the King still could not let go of his suspicions of the man, more for the fact that he had led Morgana's legion of sorcerers. For her to appoint this man as command, the King would believe he was loyal only to her. It made no sense for Morgana to give power to a man that could turn his back to her.

"Many of the sorcerers were pulled from their homes and forced into service. While I cannot defend my actions by the same reason, I and all the others felt compelled to aid the witch against those who would see us dead."

"You expect us to trust you after admitting you willingly served Morgana," Heilbert snorted.

"Perhaps, but know that I was given an offer I did not fully understand. Had I known what Morgana planned…"

"That still does not change what you and the others have done!"

"I…" Aubrey trailed, his shoulders hunched and his head hanged from his shoulders in shame as he looked to his hands, which twiddled nervously.

"Trusting a man who dabbled in the arts of demons," the lord scoffed.

"Lord Heilbert, enough," Arthur intervened, after seeing if Aubrey would defend himself against the lord. This argument was getting them nowhere.

"But, Sire, you can't possibly trust these people! Anyone who wields magic is someone who allowed evil to taint their souls!"

"Do _you_ trust me, Heilbert?"

"O-of course, Sire!"

"Then you must trust my judgment. Sorcery is not the issue, but more of what our actions are from this day forward. We meet together to discuss not the prejudice views of magic but how to judge Morgana's sorcerers fairly. Unless you have any suggestions outside your bigoted views, I suggest you remain quiet."

From where he sat, Merlin saw the tense face of Gwaine relax into a smug mug. The knight was probably close to drawing his blade and showing the lord who he must fear. It touched Merlin that his rogue friend supported him without hesitation, even if it was from an indirect insult. Tired as well of the argument that had already begun and the ones he suspected to continue, Merlin took the chance to speak.

"The answer is obvious, is it not?" Merlin spoke as loud as he could. His voice rasped out but recovered enough for them to understand. Few of the lords shifted uncomfortably, little choice but to listen to the servant turned warlock. "You all worry more about the magic they possess than the crimes they've committed. We need to treat them as we would for anyone else, give them a fair trial and punish them accordingly."

"And what would count as a fair trial amongst sorcerers," cried out another lord, his eyes, full of mistrust, shifted between each sorcerer, "with their blasted dark arts."

"Same way you would judge a knight compared to the common bandit. Both wield a sword doesn't mean you would execute the knight for his service."

"Emrys is correct," Cyric said, "each must be judged by their actions, whether willing or unwilling. Many of them seek redemption for their disservice to the crown."

"They are the one who you will alienate if execution is your only response," agreed Orian.

"So be it," Arthur said, his eyes meeting Merlin's a he gave a slight nod. "Tomorrow we will begin. I ask the druids to be present to ensure each sentence is fair "

"And if they lie and try to give their friends a lighter punishment?" Heilbert sneered, not wanting to miss the opportunity to argue.

"I'm sure figuring it out won't be difficult, then again that might be too much of a challenge for you. Don't worry your pretty little head, we won't need you to take care of it," Gwaine spat, unable to contain himself this time. Arthur's narrowed eyes prevented Heilbert from responding while his glare towards the knight only gave him a shrug and cheeky smirk. Beside Gwaine, Percival struggled to hide his own smile while Leon sighed with a small shake of his head.

Many of the lords, Heilbert included, grumbled while few others nodded in agreement along with the druids. With the decisions made, Arthur progressed through the conversation to the laws that surrounded the use of sorcery; he asked the people present how they may go about to reintegrating sorcery in the day-to-day lives of the people. Arguments were made and insults were thrown about as the lords who clutched at the followings of Uther stood their ground against change.

As time passed, Merlin steadily grew tired, his injuries ached throughout his body and his eyes drooped with fatigue. The corners of the room grew alive and the tendrils curled with excitement. They grew and stretched out across the floor, moving closer and closer to the warlock. Try as he might, Merlin could not ignore their presence. He paled when one such tendril reached his booted feet, its cool touch oozed through his boot and curled around his ankle. It climbed his leg, past his mid-section, and inched closer to his heart.

Already he could feel the cold sensation encase his lung and restrict his breathing as it stabbed at the center of his heart. Suddenly the room felt much too small, full of the shadow monsters that grew more and more distinct the more panicked the warlock felt. The shadow that latched onto him managed to compress his chest further, squeezing tight until each breath pained him as it dug further into his heart, the muscle gave a fluttering cry. Was that what Morgana felt when he allowed his magic to crush her, to _strangle_ her? He couldn't even-

"Mate, you okay?" Gwaine whispered, interrupting the shadows growth with a small shake. The knight's hand held firmly to the servant's forearm as his concerned eyes scrutinized the servant's pale face and tense jaws. The meeting was clearly taking a toll on the young man and while Gwaine understood the necessity of the servant to attend, the knight knew he would rather not allow his friend's health to be affected by strain. He had already done much for the crown; Arthur could wait a bit longer for Merlin to get the rest he deserved.

"Sire," Gwaine turned to Arthur, interrupting another argument between said King and his councilmen.

"Yes, Sir Gwaine?"

"I wish to retire early from this meeting," the knight said his eyes glancing to the servant. Arthur followed his gaze and softened when he noticed the servant's condition.

"You may leave," Arthur allowed and watched for a moment as Gwaine stood at the table and helped Merlin unsteadily to his feet. The servant's eyes adopted a far off look as Gwaine escorted him gently from the room.

Outside the room, Merlin felt more than saw the concern looks the knight shot at his direction as the two made their way through the halls. While the knight was not sure what was going on in the mind of his friend, Merlin was grateful for the distraction the knight provided. Unknowingly, he had driven the shadows back into the corners of the room, away from Merlin for a moment.

"You didn't answer my question."

Merlin glanced at the knight and looked away, mumbling, "It's nothing."

"It didn't look like nothing."

Merlin rubbed his eyes with his right hand, mindful of his shoulders. "I'm just tired, that's all. Arthur is probably going to get an earful from Gaius on the necessities of bed rest for the injured." The corner of the servant's lips quirked into a smile; however, the strain that was still evident in the man's face prevented Gwaine from feeling at ease over his friend's condition. While the servant was well enough to make jokes, Gwaine wouldn't put it past him to hide his true feelings behind the mask they only just recently discovered.

Soon they arrived outside the physician's chambers. As the servant began to push into the room, Gwaine spoke up again, "Something's bothering you, my friend. I won't push you to tell me what but if you need an ear to talk to, you know where to find me."

"Yeah, dancing on the table in the tavern with a mug in your hand," Merlin snorted. His attempt to diffuse the serious attitude the knight adopted relatively worked. While it coaxed out a laugh and a friendly pat on the back, it did not stop the worry the knight still held in his eyes.

Merlin shook the memory away. It was the first time anyone had ever noticed the remnant effects of the armlet, though the knight did not know the details. Ever since that conversation, Gwaine took care to treat Merlin as he would normally. It was an effort the ex-servant appreciated, especially when his other well-meaning friends pestered him with apprehension. He did not fault them for their concerns, it was tiresome to have to constantly deal with being treated as though he was made of glass. Granted he did not give them reason to not worry…

"Merlin."

The Court Sorcerer looked to his side at the sudden appearance of the King of Camelot. His face as impassive as he too watched the ground below, his hands rested atop the wall as he leaned his body forward to watch. His chainmail glinted in the sunlight and clinked as he pushed off from the wall and looked to the warlock.

"Arthur…"

The King sighed as he went back to looking over the walls, his eyes focused on the courtyard below. "I'm sorry Merlin."

"I told you there was nothing to forgive."

Arthur shook his head, his lips downturned as he kept his eyes below, "No, not for that."

Merlin frowned and followed Arthur's line of sight until her discovered exactly what he meant. "W-what…?"

"I can't keep pretending. This is too much to ask of me, too much to ask of my people," Arthur gestured to the courtyard. At its center was a pyre, built with rope and timber they used for reconstruction. To Merlin's surprise, it was nearing completion.

How could he not notice it?

"I can't keep pretending that I'm willing to side with _monsters_ ," Arthur spat out the last word as if it was poison on his tongue. The venom in his tone echoed through Merlin's mind and rattled through his core. His hands clenched the stonework until his knuckles turned white and his breath caught in his throat. With eyes widened in horror, he watched as the pyre was completed and the guards led the first of the victim to each stage.

"Arthur, stop this," Merlin whispered, voice strained.

He stood still, frozen as the disgust settled on him, while the guards tied Alison to the stake and watched with panic as the torch descended onto the dry timber beneath the stage. The flames licked and caught onto the wood and climbed through the platform. Soon the sounds of cheering crescendoed above the young girl's pain filled screams as the people of Camelot celebrated another conquest over magic. Indistinguishable figures lined up on the side, the shadows fluctuated around them and tore into their flesh. Even from the distance, the warlock could make out the glimmer of metal shackles that wrapped the each miserable figure.

"Why? The only thing a sorcerer is good for is the flames," Arthur continued, his tone cold. He lifted his hand and gestured further past the first pyre towards another. "There's a spot there for you. It is time the purge the evils from your body."

" _Stop_!"

"Merlin?"

The warlock turned his body around and stared, eyes wide and pupils dilated in fear, towards Arthur who had just stepped outside. Beside him, the hallucination gave a wicked smile and laughed as the body deteriorated into small, grey particles, like dust in the wind, or _ashes_. It flew away into a flurry and winked out of existence. Below the screams ended with an abrupt silence as the pyres and its victims collapsed into a cloud of ashes that blanketed the courtyards and melted into the ground below.

"Hey," Arthur called, unsure of Merlin's state as the warlock trembled in fright. The King walked closer and placed a hand on his shoulders. Merlin flinched away from the touch, still unsettled by the most recent tricks his mind played on him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Merlin murmured as he reigned in his raging emotions.

"That's not nothing," Arthur gestured to the tight grip Merlin had on the wall and the trembles that wracked through his body; he didn't need to comment on the shout he heard when he arrived. "Don't lie, there isn't a need for you to hide anymore."

"It's nothing."

Arthur sighed, " _Mer_ lin, stop this. I'm not the only whose noticed that you've been off since Morgana."

The warlock released his hold of the wall and turned his palms to the sky. He traced the lines of his hands and callouses that covered his skin. "I'm sorry, Sire, but I-I don't want to talk about it."

"We are nearly done," Arthur changed the subject, unwilling to cause any more stress on his friend. "There are only a few more sorcerers left to deal with." They stood silently together on the battlements as Merlin thought of the implication of Arthur's words. He shook the fresh images of the pyres from his mind and focused on the reality. His time to prove himself to Camelot drew closer, an idea that terrified the young warlock.

"I don't believe I am ready."

"Neither am I," Arthur said with a small smile. He leaned against the battlement and watched the land below alongside his Court Sorcerer. "Imagine, me, the son of Uther Pendragon, allowing a division of sorcerers to serve the crown."

Merlin laughed, shaking off the fears and insecurities from minutes ago, "No more difficult to imagine a servant from a poor farming village leading said division. Are you sure about this?"

"Of course, there is no other sorcerer I can trust more than you," the King met the warlock's eyes, a smile still set in his face reflected in his eyes back to his friend, "never forget that."

"Thank you, Arthur."

They stood side-by-side and watched over the kingdom. Merlin did not know how long they stayed together but only knew when a servant approached the two, sending the Court Sorcerer nervous glances, as he delivered his message on the next trial. Dismissed, the servant scurried down the steps with Arthur following behind. However, the King stopped before the stairs and looked back once more to Merlin. His eyes held irritation and sorrow that left Merlin feeling confused and nervous for a short while before the King spoke.

"Never say that, Merlin. The only gratitude that should be given is to you." With that, Arthur left, leaving Merlin alone to his thoughts.

Merlin turned back to the view and lifted his palm to his face. Hand folded over, the warlock whispered an incantation into his clenched fist, and his eyes flared gold. Slowly, he opened his hand apart and revealed a small ball of flames that swirled around in his palm. Another flash of gold sent the fire skyward as a small dragon. It twisted through the air and swooped above the sorcerer releasing small spurts of fire. With one last circle around him, the dragon flew off into the sky and dissipated into the air.

It reminded him of when the dragons took their leave, under Merlin's direction. They spent a few days hiding in the woods, out of sight from the populace as they awaited news from the Dragonlord. When he was conscious enough to communicate, Merlin had reached out with his mind and called them closer to the castle to speak. Hovering above the clouds in the night sky, close enough for a strong mental connection, they listened as he asked them to leave. While the army welcomed their presence after taking the brunt of the chimeras, they all knew that they would raise panic among the people of Camelot. Even after years have gone by since the dragon's attack, they felt it best not to cause any undue tension during process to return to normality.

Still he missed them; their proximity provided him with a comfort that only creatures of magic could provide. They understood him better than anyone else did. The connection they shared as kin also made it difficult for Merlin to hide from them. Kilgharrah and Aithusa were the only ones who knew of the delusions he suffered and chose to remain quiet per his request. Neither wanted to stay silent, and in that night they spoke from across the city, they pushed the warlock to seek help. He denied the need for help and the dragons grudgingly accepted.

He straightened to his full height and turned on his heels, his back to the view. Striding to the stairs, Merlin knew he had spent enough time brooding at the battlements and far too long immersed in his thoughts. He had enough of the self-deprecating thoughts he had over his actions and overpowered magic. The Court Sorcerer knew that the last thing the kingdom needed was someone in an influential position campaigning bigoted ideals, even if it was against himself.

Still with the hallucinations that constantly haunted him, Merlin understood it would be difficult to detach such thoughts from his mind. He knew he must not pay them mind, learn to keep an eye for when they did appear. It would be difficult, realizing when a hallucination was affecting him, but Merlin knew it was necessary if he was to be of any use to Arthur. Moreover, it could give him the needed time to research the armlet and find a way to counteract the damage. He was confident he could figure it out, especially when he no longer needed to follow Arthur as his manservant.

His new title of Court Sorcerer, however, did give him new responsibilities. Plans were made to further not only his training in magic but also other magic users who had been afraid of their abilities. Not needing to hide his learning, Merlin had no worries over tackling his duties. Compared to mucking out the stables and polishing armor, he was more than excited to begin.

The new division was going to be composed of druids and sorcerers from Morgana's army who were found to be innocent. Of course, the sorcerers weren't forced into the group and many of them chose to return to their homes. Others who did not join simply found a different profession in the city, such as Alison who chose to apprentice herself to both Gaius and Merlin in medicine and magic. She claimed to have wanted the best education and was not deterred even when Merlin pointed out that he may not be the best teacher in healing enchantments. Merlin sighed as he thought of the girl, who apparently held a personality of a troublemaker buried beneath the shy exterior.

He descended the steps and ignored the way the shadows licked at his feet, hungry to consume whatever calm Merlin managed to scrounge up during his time on the battlements. The aftereffects of the bracelet haunted Merlin around every corner and during every minute and while he gained some control over the shadows, Merlin knew he was still a long way away from being fully free from their influence. Still, Merlin tackled and overcame every obstacle thrown at him, even the four months with Morgana. While he recognized it would be difficult, the hallucination was but another obstacle the defeat.

It was a new day for a new age, and Merlin was prepared to meet it with his usual stubborn personality. He did not have time to mope about, not when he finally took on his position as advisor and the name of Emrys and especially not when he was finally free. It was a long way to go but Merlin could not wait to see the day when magic was as commonplace in the city as it was in druidic villages.

Together, with the Once and Future King, Merlin Emrys knew there was nothing that could stop them.


End file.
